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pucksandpower · 1 month

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Piece of Cake

Lando Norris x McLaren reserve driver!Reader x platonic!Oscar Piastri

Summary: McLaren hands their drivers a blindfold, a pair of headphones, and a roll of duct tape to bake burn a cake … it goes about as well as can be expected

Based on this request

You stroll into the McLaren motorhome, gym bag slung over your shoulder, earbuds in as you listen to your pre-race pump-up playlist. Being the team’s reserve driver is a dream come true — you get to be around the cutting-edge of Formula 1 and some of the brightest minds in motorsport.

And if chance should have it, you could even sub in for one of the race drivers. The thrill of potential sends a tingle down your spine.

As you round the corner, you nearly walk straight into Lando, who’s got his jaw set in that brooding, focused way he gets right before a race weekend. His eyes light up when he sees you.

“Y/N! There you are,” he says, a dazzling smile emerging. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You pull out your earbuds. “What’s up? Everything okay for the race?”

He runs a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. “Race? Oh, pfft, who cares about that? We’ve got bigger problems to solve today.”

You raise an eyebrow. Lando has a flair for the dramatic.

He goes on, “We’ve been roped into doing this absolutely mental social media challenge video. Something about … baking? I dunno, to be honest, I stopped listening after they said one of us had to do it blindfolded.”

“Blindfolded?” You repeat, already regretting asking.

That’s when Oscar pops his head out from the kitchen area, hastily re-taping his mouth shut with bright orange duct tape. He flashes you a goofy thumbs up.

“So get this,” Lando continues, not missing a beat, “You’re the blindfolded one. I have to wear noise-canceling headphones so I can’t hear anything. And poor Oscar ...” He gestures over his shoulder at the other driver, who gives an exaggerated shrug. “Can’t speak a word, obviously.”

You look between the two of them, dumbfounded. “And we’re meant to … bake? Like, an actual cake or something?”

“Yep!” Lando says brightly. Too brightly. He claps you on the shoulder. “Should be a right laugh, eh? Let’s get started then!”

And just like that, the chaos begins.

After some shuffling about and giggling fits from the boys, you find yourself standing at the kitchen counter, a thick blindfold secured over your eyes.

You strain your other senses, trying to get your bearings. The hum of the overhead lights, the chemical tang of cleaning products, and was that … vanilla? You give an experimental sniff. Definitely vanilla.

A presence appears at your side and you nearly jump out of your skin when a hand grasps your wrist, guiding your fingers to what feels like … a whisk? Lando leans in close, his cologne surrounding you.

“Okay, I can’t hear myself think in these bloody headphones, but I’m going to talk you through the recipe step-by-step,” he murmurs, warm breath tickling your ear. You shiver involuntarily. “Just, y’know … do whatever feels right, I guess?”

With that enormously unhelpful advice, he releases your wrist and you feel him retreat. You’re flying blind — quite literally.

Then there’s a tap on your other arm. You turn, whisk at the ready, as Oscar’s unmistakable muffled laughter reaches your ears. Of course he’s going to be no help, sealed lips and all.

“Alright guys, very funny,” you say, aiming a withering look somewhere in their general direction though you can’t actually see them. “If I’m meant to be baking something edible out of this mess, you’re going to need to give me a bit more guidance.”

At that, Lando ambles back over, grasping your elbow to steer you somewhere — hopefully towards an actual baking ingredient and not, like, the rubbish bin. A few stumbling, giggle-filled steps later and you’re deposited in front of what sounds like … mixing bowls? Containers? You tentatively reach out a hand.

Your fingers brush over cool ceramic and you let out a relieved breath. Okay, progress. You dip the whisk in exploratorily and feel … something powdery. Flour? You raise it to your face to sniff, but Lando stops you just in time.

“Oi, oi, don’t go getting a lungful of whatever that is!” He laughs, somehow sounding even more handsome when he’s cheerfully chiding you. You bite your lip to stifle a grin.

Things begin to take shape after that, with Lando’s surprisingly not-too-horrible instruction and Oscar’s spirited gesticulating. You quickly work out the basics — butter, sugar, flour, eggs. The wet and dry ingredients get sloppily combined in separate bowls.

All fairly standard baking stuff.

Until, that is, Oscar tries miming out the need for baking soda and you obviously can’t see his dramatic gestures. You have no clue. He positions your hands with frantic motions as you measure out a hilarious amount of the mystery powder into your mixture.

Before long, a questionable batter has been produced. Oscar helps wrestle the cake pans away from you before you can completely muddle everything. The boys shuffle around for a bit, presumably prepping the pans and oven and such.

Then it’s time to pour in the batter. You feel Lando’s sturdy hands again, this time wrapping around yours to guide the bowl’s contents out. Immediately, the thick, lumpy globs start splattering over the sides and onto the counter. Oscar’s choked laughter fills the air. Lando curses under his breath, so close you can feel the rumble of his voice on your back.

Somehow, you all get the pans mostly filled without completely obliterating the kitchen. Oscar takes them to pop in the oven while Lando stays by your side. And that’s when you feel it — his free hand straying to rest on your hip. Reflexively, you lean back against his solid frame. The heat between your bodies builds deliciously.

For a long moment, it’s just the two of you standing there in peaceful suspension, chests rising and falling in tandem. Then Lando leans his head down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You’ve got a bit of … uh, whatever that yellow stuff was in the bowl … just there,” he murmurs, voice low and impossibly alluring.

You inhale shakily. “Yeah? Why don’t you get it for me then?”

There’s the barest hesitation before his lips are on your neck, tongue darting out to lick away the wayward batter. You sag back against him, surrendering to the electrifying sensation. A tiny moan escapes your lips.

God, you want this man.

Just then, the smoke alarm goes off with an ear-splitting shriek, shattering the spell. Lando leaps back like he’s been burned.

“Bollocks! I mean, uh … can’t hear anything, totally oblivious over here!” He makes a show of adjusting his headphones primly.

You snatch off the blindfold finally, blinking against the sudden light. Sure enough, thick grey smoke is billowing out of the oven. Oscar is doubled over wheezing, tears of laughter streaming down his face as he yanks the ruined cake out with oven-mitted hands. The charred remains plop lifelessly onto the counter.

Waving the smoke away, you gape at the pitiful offering. “Well, so much for our baking skills.”

Lando peeks over, coughing exaggeratedly. “What’s that? Did someone say they wanted a follow-along tutorial on how to burn down the motorhome?”

You roll your eyes, trying for a scandalized look but can’t quite fight the grin tugging at your lips. Oscar just loses it again at his teammate’s antics, wiping at his streaming eyes as Lando joins in, shoulders shaking with mirth.

Watching them, deliriously happy despite — or maybe because of — the ridiculous disaster around you, affection blooms in your chest as warm and gooey as the cake should’ve been. The fearless racers, top drivers of a top team, international celebrities … and also just two lovable goofballs who make your heart flip in the silliest of ways.

Their laughter is infectious. You find yourself dissolving into giggles right along with them. At last, Lando slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a loose side hug. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins down at you.

“Well, I don’t know about you two, but I could go for some proper dessert after that mess,” he says lightly. “My treat?”

Oscar immediately perks up, giving an enthusiastic double thumbs up and nodding vigorously.

You lean into Lando’s warmth, basking in the comfortable closeness. “You read my mind. Let’s get out of here before we burn something else down.”

With one last look at the charcoal brick that was once a cake, Oscar shakes his head ruefully. He strolls over and throws his arms around the two of you, squeezing tightly. For a moment, the three of you just stand there in a tangle of limbs and easy camaraderie, bodies shaking with residual laughter.

Pulling back at last, Oscar flashes you both a mischievous look as he points to his taped mouth, then mimes ripping it off. His silent way of asking if he can finally remove the duct tape obstacle.

“Oh, go on then, you’ve suffered enough,” Lando chuckles, waving a permissive hand.

Quick as a flash, Oscar yanks off the tape with a dramatic flourish, letting out a loud “FREEDOM!” He immediately grimaces, rubbing his jaw. “Oof, that stung a bit.”

“You’ll live, drama queen,” you tease, giving his arm a light shove.

He bumps you back with his hip, grinning impishly. “Well, it was all worth it to witness the two of you in absolute shambles from start to finish.”

Shouldering past you both, Oscar heads for the exit, shooting a roguish wink over his shoulder. “Now are we going to get some edible cake or what? I don’t know about you two, but I worked up an appetite with all the not talking I just did.”

Laughing again, you and Lando trail after him into the sunny paddock, bickering half-heartedly about who torched the baking attempt more thoroughly. A warm breeze riffles through the trees, carrying the scent of race fuel and possibility.

Another typical, wonderfully chaotic day at McLaren. You certainly wouldn’t have it any other way.

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httpsserene · 3 months

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I have been having SUCH a thought since the Thigh Riding, and I NEED to tell you.

We know reader has been loving Max and Charles’ thighs, but have you seen those silicone thigh toys? They’re basically ridged pads you strap to your thigh and…well you can guess what they do with them.

I just- I feel like it would elevate it, their sweet girl opening up to the world of toys whilst in the comfort of something she loved.

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞 | 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬 | 𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞: 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞

summary: all my (terrified and oversensitive) homies hate vibrators!! max and charles introduce you to something better. content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. vibrators. thigh riding. sex toys. non-penetrative sex. edging. praise kink. corruption kink. dom/sub undertones. coming untouched. sub!charles. sub!reader. dom!max. pairing: max verstappen x charles leclerc x fem!black!reader word count: 2.4k words.

author’s notes: this is from december 2023, jesus christ. about fucking time right, @vetteltea? this has been haunting me in my sleep ever since this hit my inbox, now it’s y’all’s problem too < 333 psss, next post will either be toasty part two (toto) or a smau xxx

(if you’re unsure about what these specific thigh toys are, don’t worry, i would link an example but idk if that would get me put in tblr jail and i’m on thin ice with my mentions, tags, and even dms not working :| look up “grinding pad sex toy” to get an idea of what i’m referencing in this fic. )

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You’ve deeply repressed the memory of your orgasm-deprived outburst that kick started your sexual exploration with Max and Charles. Vaguely, you can remember saying that you possibly considered the thought of buying a vibrator to get yourself off since riding your pillow wasn’t enough anymore.

[…you’ve become depraved enough to consider buying a vibrator, but all packages delivered to this apartment have to be approved by max or charles to be sent up, and you’re definitely not bold enough to go out and buy one (and risk being seen by one of their fans or have to physically talk to someone to buy one)...]

[…you seem to have missed the fact that you sent their minds reeling and continue venting, “i don’t know what to do, maxy! i’ve been doing the same thing, and it’s NEVER failed me before. it’s cruel that it stopped working when you guys left me for more than a month! no matter how i did it–if i did the exact same things i’ve always been doing, or tried something new, nothing worked! i was literally just considering buying a fucking vibrator! a vibrator, charles, i’d rather run naked in the street than buy that online and have to put in this delivery address–”

charles gently presses finger against your mouth, shushing you. he pulls you into a deep hug, rubbing a hand up and down the length of your back , the motion pacifying you. he hums, and it vibrates through his chest to yours, “mmm, we’re home now, mon ange. there’s no need to run in the streets naked–” “definitely not,” max jumps in, reacting possessively at the implication of other people seeing you undressed. charles rolls his eyes and continues (like he’s not just as jealous as max), “or buy a vibrator. i know it must be so frustrating…”]

Charles was right. You didn’t have to go streaking or buy a sex toy to get off, your boyfriends took care of you. That night, you were satisfied by riding Max’s thigh. Then a few days later, you learned how to pleasure your men with handjobs. A couple of days after that you were fingerfucked into an altered mental state, then followed up with watching Charles cum untouched as Max ate him out. You had Max’s mouth on you next and weeks later in a Spanish villa, you allowed them to take your virginity.

The five days you three spent in that villa were filled with pleasure, as Max and Charles fulfilled every request of yours without question. In bed, on the sofa, from the kitchen floor to the dining table, from the hot tub to the bathroom shower, horizontally, vertically, parabolically, from dusk to dawn—the two years of relationship you had without sexual intimacy had been put to rest. The understanding, the vulnerability, and the trust rooted within everyone had led to that moment. It was worth it.

So, one would understand your confusion when Max drops the idea of sex toys in conversation with you and Charles on a random morning. With an audible noise of confusion, you tilt your head up at him adorably, and genuinely question, “Why would I use a toy when I have you two?” Your tummy tightened when that sentence caused Charles to look at you with dripping molten eyes and Max’s mumbled grumble about corrupting your innocence goes unheard. Minutes later, you were bent over the kitchen island, the skirt of your sundress shoved up around your waist, and your white panties dangling off of one ankle as they took turns eating you out. Needless to say, you forgot about the subject of conversation the moment they knocked your legs open.

Eventually, they do manage to have a chat about toys without it devolving into sex.

“Schat,” Max grabbed your attention, the clink of his silverware resting on his plate further interrupted your focus on spinning pasta onto your fork.

“Yes, Maxy?” you responded, meeting his eyes with a smile.

“After this discussion, we will never bring this up again if you are adamantly against the idea,” you brought your fork to your lips, munching away with a look of puzzlement, the Dutchman continued, “But, Charlie and I were talking…and we think, that—with your approval, of course—that there’s a chance you may enjoy experiencing and learning about sex toys, and how good they can make you feel. As long as either one of us is using them on you—and, with your hatred of them—they’re also not vibrators.”

You choked on your pasta, Charles making a noise of surprise as he rushed forward to pat you on the back.

Airways now cleared, you looked at Max with watery eyes, “There was not enough foreshadowing to let me know where the conversation was going. And, fuck vibrators. They are way too strong.”

The Monegasque’s eyes brightened with humor, “Hm. I think vibrators are nice, especially when they’re in Max’s hand.”

“You’re a menace and a freak,” the older man responded, “And she’s chronically sensitive. Don’t tease.”

Charles tugged at one of your curls, chuckling as he saw the brown skin of your cheeks redden.

“I mean,” you paused to play fight with your boyfriend, batting his hand from your hair cutely, “You guys haven’t been wrong with anything you’ve introduced me to. If you think that I might enjoy something…I guess I can try it. And, you’ll stop if I tell you to, right?”

“Always, mon ange.” “Of course, liefje.”

“Okay, then. I just don’t think there’s a toy that I’ll like?”

A smirk spread across Max’s lips when he glanced over at Charles, like they knew something you didn’t. His blue eyes were alight with humor as they looked back at you, “Let us worry about that.”

You did such a good job of letting your boyfriends “worry about sex toys” that you ended up forgetting the conversation happened. Until tonight, when you walked into your bedroom to see Charles on the bed completely naked, save for—what appears to be, a pink silicone pad strapped around his tanned, muscular thigh.

You freeze in the doorway, mouth parted, struggling to process the sight in front of you. The brunette is ruined. His hair is damp with sweat, strands of curls stuck to his forehead, and green eyes moist with dried tear tracks painting the ruddiness of his cheeks. His lips are bitten red, swollen, and moist with his spit—Max’s too. The bruises start on his collarbone, deep red marks brush along his clavicle and pecs, and there are visible imprints of teeth around his right nipple. Traces of Max’s unforgiving grip are painted on his waist, thumbprints obvious to your eyes. His cock looks painful; burning red, twitching randomly, the vein on his underside raised, and precome has been leaking out of his tip for a while if the puddle by the base is any telling.

Employing his skill for perfect timing, the en-suite door opens, and Max steps into the room with a bottle of lube in his hand.

“Charlie?” Max coos, walking over to the delirious man, pouting sympathetically when the brunette’s head falls forward to rest on his hip, ruffling his hair and scratching along his scalp. “Aren’t you going to thank our pretty girl for putting an end to your torture?”

“–rci, merci,” the exhausted man mumbles messily. Max hums in content, dropping the lube on the bed and gesturing for you to come closer. Tripping over your feet in haste to follow his order, you ask softly, “How long have you had him like this?”

“Around forty-five minutes,” Max shrugs, dismissively, “He was getting too excited as we waited for you to join us.”

Swallowing shakily, you inquire, “Excited about what?

“Your new sex toy.”

You gasp and Max’s eyes flutter across your face as he gages your reaction. Max sees you shift on your feet and casts look downward; your thighs are pressed together for friction—you’re aroused.

“Do you want to try it?”

“Yes, Max.”

The Dutchman smiles at you, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, and leans forward to press a multitude of chaste kisses on your lips, laughing lowly when you whine with displeasure as he ignores your attempts to deepen them. “You’re being so brave for me. Take your clothes off, pretty girl.”

Bare in the blink of an eye, you look at your older boyfriend for his next direction.

“Our Charlie,” Max starts, helping the fucked-out man sit up straight, “Has been so kind to volunteer his thigh to you. Strapped around it,” he pauses to slap his hand down beneath the toy, smirking at Charles’ delayed yelp, and squeezing the meat of his muscle warmly, “Is a ridged silicone pad designed to simulate the vulva and clit as you grind. The waves and spikes of silicone are malleable and soft,” Max drags his finger across them demonstratively, “and are smooth and bouncy as you slide across it, allowing for a continuous rubbing sensation—I did my research.”

Giggling nervously as your eyes flicker between Charles’ cock and the daunting pink slab of plastic, “I can tell. Um—I just ride it like it’s his thigh?”

Max nods and offers you his hand for stability as you move to straddle the pad. Charles blinks, raising trembling hands to rest on your hips, staring at you with hazy eyes. You sigh, tangling your hand in the nape of his hair and using it to pull him forward into a kiss. His lips are clumsy but eager as they move against yours, whimpers muffled into your mouth and beard scratching along your chin. He tries to tug you downwards to have you firmly sit on the pad but is halted by Max.

“Greedy, both of you,” Max snorts, picking up the forgotten bottle of lube and uncapping it to lightly drizzle some on the toy's surface, “I know you get wetter than the ocean but, better safe than sorry.”

He pats you on the ass in encouragement, and you shake your head with shame as you lower yourself down on the silicone, draping your arms around Charles’ shoulders and pausing to acquaint yourself with the new feeling. The chill of the lube startles you but aside from that, the toy is…comfortable. The raised hump sits perfectly against the curvature of your cunt and already, you’re anticipating the focused stimulation it will provide.

Max sits behind Charles and the bed sinks under his weight, barely jostling the Monegasque’s thigh. However, it’s enough of a movement that it causes one of the soft spikes to clip your clit, pushing a quiet noise of surprise from your lips.

“Oh,” you murmur airily.

Trying to hide the quirk of his lips, Max leans forward to whisper directly into Charles’ ear, “This seems awfully familiar to the first time she rode my thigh, no?”

You whimper audibly, knowing that he purposefully spoke loud enough for you to hear his words. Refusing to fixate on Charles’ reply, you circle your hips, breath catching as the various textures set your nerves ablaze. You understand that Max added the lube to prevent any unwanted roughness—it’s rendered unnecessary as your arousal starts to leak. Digging your nails into the younger man’s back, you rock your hips back and forth slowly, moaning freely as the waves are a consistent friction against your labia.

“It’s–fuck—i-it’s good.”

“Stuttering already,” Max tuts, and you feel the heat in your cheeks radiate down to your bouncing chest. Your rhythm roughens; dragging yourself along the toys in desperation, toes curling at every random press of the spikes against your outer lips and clit. Charles gasps in relief, your quickened pace causing his cock to bounce and rub against his abdomen in his puddle of precome. He gets lucky on every few grinds when you undulate forwards and his cock bounces to glide against your navel. His hands grip firmly around your hips and shove them into a jerkier motion, keeping you close to him so his reddened length can be soothed against your skin constantly.

The change in angle and position has caused the spikes to form a barrage around your clit and the waves drag over your entrance, teasing you with the feeling of being opened up. Dropping your head to hide your face in Charles’ neck, you muffle your pitchy moans and shrieks by tasting the sweat beading on his skin.

“I’m jealous, schatje,” Max speaks, “I almost want to pull her off of your thigh and have her sit on my face.”

Fresh tears spill from Charles’ eyes as he begs, “N-no-no—mmmph—please, ‘m close.”

Your hips start to rabbit against the toy, and the texture between your legs is overwhelming but too pleasurable to consider slowing.

Max yanks Charles’ head backward with a fist in his hair, “Do you want to cum, Charlie?”

The man in question babbles incoherently, chest trembling from lack of oxygen as he continues to sob; he tries to nod, but can’t, thanks to Max’s firm grip. The burning of his scalp doesn’t subdue him, it encourages him to keep tugging so the pain floods endorphins through his body.

“You know what to say,” Max states calmly, the words sending shivers down your spine. Your own body starts to tingle as you taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue; you’re too delighted at the new sensations to let any embarrassment build from reaching the edge quickly.

Charles struggles to get his tongue, lips, and vocal cords to cooperate. You see a frantic look light in his eyes, sure he’s trying to puzzle out what language he’s sane enough to communicate in. He manages to verbalize sounds that could be likened to Max’s name if you brush past his whimpers and cries.

“Plea–,” Charles tries to push the word out pitifully, “—ah, sss'il te pla—” his cock bumps against your navel, and his words cut off, eyes rolling back before he can finish begging.

A humorous laugh leaves Max; this is the easiest way Max has ever made the younger man lose his speech. He softens, and gives into the pillow prince, “You did so good, Charlie. You tried your hardest for me, yeah? You begged so prettily tonight, almost as pretty as you look. Such a good boy, Charles. You can cum.”

Strikingly, the approval works for both you and Charles. Twin cries of pleasure erupt as your orgasms blur your vision and burn through your muscles. The feeling of Charles’s cum splattering against your stomach sends another burst of light through your skin as you continue to grind fitfully on the silicone pad. A lake of wetness puddled on the poor man’s thigh, that squelches as you move.

Charles is rendered silent as his cock continues to pulse even when the flow of his release ceases. Max brings his hand down to squeeze at his base and Charles releases a choppy scream as it pushes another couple of ribbons out of him. His hips thrust upwards with every string, forcing hisses of over sensitivity to slip from you as it drags the soaked pad against your cunt. You would happily crawl off his thigh, but you haven’t regained feeling in your legs yet.

Thankfully, Charles deflates back into Max, his cock finally softening and slowly losing some of its flush. Tears start to leak from his eyes again, his chest shuddering through little sobs. You whimper softly at his tears and Max pulls you both to rest comfortably in the bed, as he shushes you two through the comedown. When the tears, shivers, and shakes halt, a pleased tilt of lips rises to Charles's face as his eyes dance between you and Max.

The Dutchman unclips the toy from Charles’s thigh and smirks at the wet peeling noise that sounds.

“So…I assume this toy has your approval?”

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x max verstappen #charles leclerc x max verstapen x reader #lestappen #poly!f1 #charles leclerc smut #max verstappen smut #f1 x black!reader #charles leclerc x black!reader #max verstappen x black!reader #charles leclerc fic #max verstappen fic #serene’s chapters.#⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1 #♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: cl.#♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: mv.

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sigh-tofm · 7 days

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if you have anxiety… (some 18+)

… price

- takes charge. understands how hard it is to be a functional human some days. removes all the unnecessary overthinking you do. breakfast? omelette. workout? yes, a run. dinner? steak, and he will do the hard part. you chop the veggies. movie? this cheesy romcom. sex? of course, you just lie back and let yourself get overwhelmed by his tongue. can’t do much overthinking when you barely remember your own name, can you? while you rest against the headboard in the afterglow and catch your breath, he fishes a magnesium pill from a bottle and makes you swallow it, holding a glass of water to your lips. ‘let’s calm that head down, baby.’

… kyle

- talks you down. he’s smooth and he knows it. when you run yourself in circles trying to find solutions to problems that only exist in your head, he has a way of breaking your head open and making you see the light with only a few soft sentences. he lets you ramble on and on about all the things that plague you until he eventually says something that catches you completely off guard and puts everything into a new perspective. suddenly you understand how it’s all connected and what previously felt like world-ending problems now seem like minor inconveniences, if that. he knows that making you putting your thoughts into words and talking about them with him is the best way to dismantle the thought patterns in your head. a simple afternoon walk with him is like a hundred hours in a therapist’s office. and of course you get a quickie on the sofa after.

… johnny

- helps you fight off the restlessness and other nervous symptoms. always catches the signs, your trembling hands and wavering glances, and tries to derail your trains of thought that he knows might cause a panic attack. his first method is always making you laugh, and his stupid jokes almost always do the trick. if that doesn’t work, he knows jumping jacks are a sure way to fire off the stress hormones and adrenaline building up inside you. and if you come home all frazzled, nerves fried after a day of stressful work tasks, impossible clients and rude coworkers, he makes sure to tire you out physically and mentally by way of eight different sex positions over the course of three and a half hours. you sleep long and well that night.

… simon

- is at your service. literally becomes like your service dog. when you’re out and about, you just need to hold on to his arm or put your hand in his pocket. he’ll take you where you need to go, you don’t need to worry about it. if the hustle and bustle of the world around gets to be too loud, he’ll put a heavy arm around your shoulders, literally grounding you. you can hold his large, scarred hand if you need something to focus on, running your fingers over the ridges and bumps on his skin. like any good service dog he creates space for you, simply by existing. no one bothers you when he’s around. if you fidget with the zipper on your jacket or pull on a strand of your hair, he knows before you even notice what you’re doing. he’ll gently redirect you, guiding your hand away from whatever it’s doing. if you’re at home, he’ll sometimes place it blatantly on his crotch instead, to really give you something to fidget with.

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spongeyspot · 10 months

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Toxic Traits/Red Flags HC

Characters: Arthur, Javier, John, Lenny, Dutch, Micah, Charles, Sean, Hosea, Mary Beth, Abigail, Tilly, Karen, Sadie, Molly

(A/N): WE WERE JUST TALKING ABOUT THIS DAWG. I LOVED @cowboyfromh3ll 's take on that shit sm and these hcs have literally been swimming in my head for weeeeeeeeks bro

Edit: some of these were kinda hard because there's not a lot of bad in the characters themselves... I had trouble with specifically Charles, Lenny, Mary Beth, and Tilly. Sorry if they may be OOC. IM EVEN DOING THE GIRLS BECAUSE IM IN A SILLY GOOFY MOOD

Content Warning: female reader, jealousy, self hate, narcissism, gaslighting, physical abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, mentions of murder and violence, mentions of infidelity, mentions of sex (Sean, Micah, Sadie kind of) (MINORS DNI)

Not edited btw

The boys

Arthur Morgan

- Honestly, I feel like Arthur would have this insane, crippling fear of rejection, especially when it comes to dating. - His self hate/deprecation plays a huge part in this, and quite honestly, him and Mary not working out probably also probably contributed to it. - Very emotionally distant. Has a hard time expressing his feelings openly due to that same fear of rejection.🚩 - Bottles shit up until he feels like he's gonna explode 🚩 - His impulse control is almost nonexistent 🚩 - Will resort to saying things that he doesn't even mean. He just says things when he's angry🚩 - Will hate himself even more if he makes you cry - Won't hesitate to run away from camp for a while to cool off. This isn't necessarily a bad thing per se, but he usually takes his time away to overthink the fuck out of everything - Prone to acting violent. (not to someone he cared about, but to other people, absolutely)Also due to his poor impulse control. 🚩

Javier Escuella

- Has a flirty personality, but around women, it just seems to get worse. 🚩 - Tells you you're overreacting if you tell him it bothers you🚩 - Overprotective of you. Always has his eyes on you, and practically orders you to stay in camp where it's safe. - As if you step one foot outside the camp without him, you'll spontaneously drop dead - Jealous asf. Are you laughing at what Bill just said? It wasn't even that funny. Why are you standing so close to him? You should be at least 6 feet away from him, not 5 and a half. 🚩 - Also has a problem with how you dress sometimes. God forbid your shirt is ever low cut. He'd probably ask you to change. 🚩 - And if you get offended or upset, he'll lie and tell you it's because he can't stop staring at your chest, and he'd like to focus of whatever it was he was doing.🚩

John Marston

- Stubborn as all hell. Doesn't listen to anybody for anything.🚩 - Commitment issues up the ass - Says mean things out of anger and sometimes actually means them 🚩 - Won't apologize half the time. He thinks kissing it better actually makes it better 🚩 - Regularly ignores his own bad habits instead of actually facing them 🚩 - Will run away from problems like Arthur, but worse. He'd be gone a really long time.🚩 - Gets annoyed with you if you get angry at him for leaving and staying away for a while. He told you he needed space, didn't he? What else do you need from him?? 🚩 - Ignorantly clueless half the time. Head empty, no thoughts.

Lenny Summers

- Not assertive in the slightest, and usually, respectfully, keeps to himself. -Takes orders without verbal complaints but inside he's annoyed as fuck 🚩 - Even if he hates doing something he'll probably just go "Okay" and do it anyway, and he'll sulk all day afterwards - Refuses to tell you what's wrong because he thinks he'll sound childish.🚩 - If you push the issue, he might snap at you out of annoyance like "Would you just let it be??" - Immediately feels guilty and shameful, and he'll hide away until he's ready to apologize and face you again - Also kind of a know-it-all... He'll correct you a LOT. It would get annoying 🚩 - Would blatantly tell you you're wrong before correcting you🚩 - Not necessarily an asshole about it but he still tends to get under your skin sometimes

Dutch Van Der Linde

- The BIGGEST Narcissist you'll ever meet.🚩 -He loses another piece of his mental state with every breath he takes. Slowly but surely losing his mind.🚩 - King of gaslighting🚩 - How could you even think that about him? He could never do anything wrong! You must be crazy...🚩 - Tries to recite his "pretty words" from Evelyn Miller to try and sound smarter than he actually is 🚩 - Expects you to just feed his ego without him actually doing anything to earn it🚩 - Will try to correct you even when he's wrong🚩 - Refuses to admit he's wrong. He can never be wrong. That word isn't even in his vocabulary unless he's talking about literally anyone but himself🚩

Micah Bell

- Where do I even start with this guy - Not above putting his hands on you if he doesn't get his way. Let's be honest here.🚩 - Mega Narccisist, almost as bad as Dutch 🚩 - Will brag and share every sexual encounter you've ever had with him like he's talking about the weather🚩 - VERY prone to Violence 🚩 - NO impulse control. Murders people for fun.🚩 - Backhanded and borderline abusive compliments 24/7 "You'd look so good if you weren't so fucking fat..." 🚩 - Selfish lover. Thinks just sticking it in will do the trick, and it does, for him at least.🚩 - Little to no affection. What are you? His girlfriend? Wait...🚩 -If he actually does show you affection, and you react in surprise, he'll tell you to go fuck yourself, and that that's the last time he ever does anything nice for you.🚩

Charles Smith

- Impossible to read sometimes - Like Arthur, Charles tends to keep a lot of his emotions bottled up until he feels like he's gonna pop 🚩 - Like most of the men in the Van Der Linde gang, Charles is also prone to acting violently. I mean, he started a bar fight with a fucking chair, and he fights in street fighting rings, let's be real for a second.🚩 - He's incredibly quiet and reserved a lot of the time, and sometimes you just assume that he's listening to you when you talk, but a lot of the time, he's lost in his own thoughts. - Will do everything anyone asks him to at the expense of his own free time and energy, and sometimes he works himself to exhaustion just to try and please everyone.🚩 - In doing so, he sometimes doesn't have time for himself at the end of the day. It also seems like you spend time together less and less as the days go on. - If he ever got himself hurt and you tried to help him, he'd decline any help with anything to save his own pride. The last thing he needs is you thinking he's weak. 🚩 - Extremely Overprotective. Like to the point where he'd beat the shit out of anybody you asked him to🚩

Sean Macguire

- An Alcoholic🚩 - horny 99% of the time, but half that time he probably has whiskey dick. Still asks you to try but doesn't understand that it's like trying to play pool with a rope... - If he can manage to be sober enough to actually get it up, and you're not in the mood, he'd get pissy and annoyed with you for "wasting his boner" 🚩 - Will probably also brag about having sex with you to everyone🚩 - Needy as all hell - Bro sulks on purpose - Low key loves the attention you give him when you continue to ask him what's wrong, but he never actually tells you and constantly says "I'm fine..." or "It's nothing..." 🚩 - But then sighs dramatically and continues sulking and dragging his feet so you keep giving him more attention 🚩

Hosea Matthews

- Ignores his physical health until he's practically dying. You've told him to get that cough looked at for literal years and he just says "I will" and does nothing 🚩 - sometimes talks to you as if you're a child especially if he's around Dutch -low key gaslights you sometimes 🚩 - and he says it with such a gentle tone, its hard to catch it 🚩

The girls

Mary Beth Gaskill

- Daydreams way too much - Likes to live in her romance novel fantasy land rather than face reality 🚩 - Cries a lot - Tries to be angry but can't help but cry instead - If crying makes you feel bad for her, she'll probably do it on purpose so you comfort her and give her attention🚩 -If you're in a fight, she'll turn on the crocodile tears to get you to stop being angry with her or whatever it is you're arguing about.🚩

Abigail Roberts

- She can be verbally abusive if she's pushed far enough 🚩 - Holds in a lot of her emotions🚩 - Neglectful of her own personal needs to make sure you or Jack are fully provided or cared for🚩 - a lot of the time, when she's upset with you, you're probably given the cold shoulder and the silent treatment - incredibly protective. Not necessarily a bad thing, but she can sometimes be super overbearing.

Tilly Jackson

- Tells it how she sees it, sometimes accidentally sounding a lot colder than she means to 🚩 - Too sarcastic for her own good 🚩 - Laughs a little too much sometimes when you tell a joke, and you can often tell it's actually incredibly fake🚩 - gets irritated really easily, especially if she's bothered while doing her chores. The last thing she needs is Grimshaw on her ass again.🚩 - irritable a lot of the time, unintentionally becoming short or snapping at you - like john, she also believes that kissing it better is better than actually apologizing

Karen Jones

- An alcoholic 🚩 - picks fights with you for fun, finds it entertaining to see how red your face can get from anger 🚩 - Screaming matches are a regular occurance between you guys, and she starts it almost every time 🚩 - Pretty jealous when it comes to the opposite sex🚩 - Has self doubt and believes that she can't give you everything a man probably could

Sadie Adler

- The nosiest woman in America. No chill. She reads everyone's mail. - Makes a lot of loose threats 🚩 - Anger issues🚩 - Low impulse control🚩 - Can be a little too rough sometimes 🚩 - If she's upset with you, she'll either yell or storm off. Sometimes both. 🚩 -(She tends to walk away a lot more often because she's actuall self aware that her anger issues are a problem) - She'd never admit that to you though.

Molly O'Shea

- Even more jealous than Javier🚩 - Glares at and envies anyone you talk to that isn't her🚩 - Has immaginary conversations with people in her head🚩 - Rubbing her hands together when the real life conversations are following the script she had planned out in her brain - Needs constant reassurance - "D'you even love me anymore?!"🚩 - Overthinks everything 🚩 - Paranoid as hell about infidelity - Gets mad at you when she dreams about you cheating on her🚩

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callme-holly · 7 months

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Hi!! I was wondering if you could please do the outsiders gang with a little Curtis sister!reader? Like readers a year younger than ponyboy? Also can it be hc’s please?

'𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐞'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫' [𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐱 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - Ahhhhh, i literally love this concept so much. Hope ya'll enjoy and as always my asks are still open for requests!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 671 words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - none!!

The gang are so protective of you oh my god

You may only be a year younger than Pony but they will still bend over backwards to ensure that you are safe.

You are Darry’s whole world. He cares about you so much that it’s almost suffocating. If anything happens to you, you best believe he is sticking up for you in a heartbeat.

Sometimes it can get a little frustrating. The boys will baby you and you will have to stand your ground when they get a little too much.

You are never allowed to walk home alone, and I mean never. There will always be someone there to walk you to and from wherever it is you need to go. It’s dangerous out there and they will not risk you being jumped.

Speaking of which, if you did ever happen to get jumped, the gang is by your side in seconds. Dallas, Steve, and Darry will literally put someone in the hospital for you if need be.

You give the boys a run for their money. If they get put on “baby-sitting” duty you show them pretty quickly that you don’t need looking after.

Sodapop is your best friend and you can’t tell me otherwise. He’s that person you can go to when you’ve got a problem and actually feel comforted afterwards. He’ll take you to the DX with him and let you help out as well as letting you take whatever you want from the store. Steve doesn’t really like it (he’s jealous that you’re stealing away his best friend) but he warms up to you being around after a while.

Going to the movies with Ponyboy and hanging out in the lot with him and Johnny after!!

If you think Darry is hard on Pony, just wait until you get home a few minutes past curfew. He will go mental. Like I said, he cares a whole lot about you and isn’t gonna have your future wasted. Sure, he has near impossible expectations for you a lot of the time, but just talk to him and he’ll try to go easy.

The other kids at school hardly ever mess with you. They’ve seen how scary your brothers and the rest of the gang are and they really aren’t looking to be spending their days in hospital.

If you’re struggling in classes, Pony will drop everything to help you out. You will both sit and study until Darry is on your ass about getting to bed.

Sometimes the gang can be a little too protective. It’s suffocating having to have someone with you everywhere you go and while they mean well you have had multiple arguments with them about how you can take care of yourself.

Dallas has definitely taught you how to fight, much to Darry’s dismay. You need to be able to hold your own and Dallas is going to teach you everything he’s learnt during his time on the streets.

Two-bit is the go to “baby-sitter”. He’s more than happy to go anywhere you want and he actually lets you have some form of freedom. Maybe that’s because he himself has the mentality of a small child but regardless, if Darry wants someone to look after you, make sure you request Two-bit.

Johnny loves spending time with you. You’re calm and someone he can talk to when he needs to. When he stays over some nights, you will sit up with him and Pony and talk until the sun comes up.

At first, Steve didn’t like you. He genuinely believed you were going to steal Sodapop away from him and hated when you came along to the DX. He doesn’t care if you’re a year younger than Pony, you’re still a kid in his eyes, and he’ll treat you as such. After a while though, he starts to warm up to you, you’re his best friend’s little sibling after all.

Needless to say, the whole gang loves you and would do anything for you <333

#the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders imagine #ponyboy curtis x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #darry curtis x reader #dallas winston x reader #johnny cade x reader #steve randle x reader #two bit matthews x reader #dallas winston #johnny cade #darry curtis #ponyboy curtis #sodapop curtis #steve randle #two bit mathews

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billfarrah · 6 months

Text

I genuinely can't believe there are actually people coming for Young Royals for showing a character empowering themselves enough to remove themselves from a toxic situation and framing it as Wille "running away from his problems."

Removing yourself from a toxic situation which has caused you nothing but suffering and trauma and grief is not running away from your problems and it's genuinely such a dangerous thing to imply.

Why does Wille have to stay in a role he's never wanted, to please parents who have never accepted him for who he is or what he wants, who want to dictate how he lives his life and how his boyfriend lives his life and what path he takes in life and how he portrays himself to the media?

The show is literally about personal autonomy and finding the strength and motivation to be radically yourself regardless of what is against you and Wille's decision is portrayed an act of bravery. Leaving the monarchy is not "running away from his problems" - he's removing himself from an institution he does not believe in and does not want to be a part of and choosing to take a journey of self-discovery where he can discover who he truly is, who he wants to be, without anyone breathing down his neck or telling him whether he is allowed to have tattoos or how short he is allowed to cut his hair. Wille should not have to beg and fight with his family and with the royal court to be accepted.

The ending of the show never implies that Wille's mental health struggles are suddenly over and done with. Nobody is saying his anxiety and issues with anger have disappeared. Nobody is saying he will never struggle again. However, majority of his mental health issues throughout the show are directly linked to his role and the pressures it puts himself under. Leaving that all behind doesn't solve every problem he could ever had, but it alleviates a large amount of stress. Have people never left a stressful situation or relationship behind and suddenly felt an immediate and monumental relief?

I'd also like to point out that the ending of the show is not Wille abdicating. He has to officially renounce his claim to the throne for that to happen. He's simply just telling his mother how he feels and what he wants to do. The journey is not over for Wille and there will no doubt be many hardships ahead for him, but now that he's released himself from this and is for the first time sure of what he wants and sure he is able to deal with it, he is more equipped to deal with what's ahead than ever before.

Wille removing himself from the expectations of his family and the royal court are demonstrations of him working towards bettering his mental health, because he is finally able to recognize that the situation has always negatively affected him and he finally feels powerful enough and not drowned by anger, resentment and anxiety to leave it all behind and start over.

If that isn't bravery, I don't know what is.

#young royals

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literaila · 6 months

Text

premature death

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: you settle into jujutsu high, and then you settle out

warnings: fluff, angst (canon events), satoru is an idiot as per usual, suguru is there.

a/n: open wide, daddy made your favorite

last part | next part

second year.

you've never loved dining in, you think, as a menu is pulled from your hands and you try to relax into your seat, looking around.

you're sitting in the corner, near a wall.

it's been an hour since you finished your mission--with nanami and haibara--and an hour since haibara insisted on all of you meeting the second years for dinner.

honestly, even if you'd had the energy to argue with him, his face would've broken you eventually. so, you followed your two best friends blindly, stumbling into this restaurant that smells a bit like burnt sugar.

your body aches from running around, and your head pounds from all of the mental strain it takes to protect both nanami and haibara at once (especially when they're both hellbent on being as reckless as possible at any available moment). you barely give suguru and shoko a 'hello,' as you near the table, and you ignore satoru completely.

(and the way your body immediately perks up at the sight of him).

the only reason you've even made it in the restaurant is because haibara let you lean on him the whole way here. someone better be coming to pick you up after this.

and when they push you into this seat--away from literally everything else--you don't even mind it. it's nice, a sort of protection from the outside world.

but, of course, none from the one right there.

satoru is sitting much too close to you. he's wild and animated, boasting about some curse that was no big deal for him, of course, with no consideration for personal space.

you can feel it when he breathes, when he laughs. his hand is basically on your thigh, and he's almost grabbed your drink on accident three separate times.

no one else has even commented on this, so you don't say anything.

it's definitely not because he's pleasantly warm--sickly warm, you think--or because you feel a bit relaxed with him right next to you instead of anyone else. at ease. and it's not because just sitting near satoru creates an automatic reaction within your body, a buzzing, and keeps you from falling asleep on the table. it has nothing to do with any of that.

you just don't want to make a scene.

you're staring down at the table, fiddling with a napkin and wondering how many other people have sat here, spilled their drinks, and shared these thoughts, when a hand pokes at your side, and you jump.

"hey," satoru says, leaning to meet your eyes. his mouth is ridiculously pink, and you can see the tips of his lashes from over his glasses. "you okay there?"

you push his face away with a hand, grimacing at him. you ignore the twinge in your shoulder, and the hundred other sore muscles in your body. "just fine, thanks."

satoru leans back, observing you for a moment. everyone else is lost in conversation, so there's no one to save you from his attention.

"that looks heavy," he says, eventually, with a ton of fake sympathy. and condescension. he's smiling at you, because when isn't he?

"what?" you say, frowning. you look around for a problem, but there isn't one.

then you meet his eyes again, and you know what he's going to say.

"your hand," he answers, easily, predictably. "let me hold it for you."

you slap him away before he can even try.

"were you genetically engineered in a lab to be annoying?" you ask him, scowling.

"just beautiful."

you roll your eyes, moving to sip on your tea. when you set it back down, satoru is still staring at you.

"what?"

"oh, nothing."

you frown, hoping that there isn't anything on your face. or that he hasn't realized that you don't want to be here. and then, before he can read any real expression, you smile sweetly at him. "you're popping my bubble, satoru."

"what bubble?"

"my personal space bubble," you answer, sharply, pushing at his chest. "move over. you know there's a whole other end of the booth right there?"

satoru looks to his other side, to the empty spot where he should be sitting, and then back to you with a wince. "you want me to sit next to nanami?"

you stare at him blankly. "i want you to allow me free will over my limbs."

"but he scares me."

"want me to tell him that?"

satoru sighs, but moves over a single inch. because he's nice.

"seriously?"

satoru stares at you, pointing towards the centimeter of both you can see between your bodies like it's a solution to your problem. when you say nothing, he pouts. "what? i like sitting next to you."

"you can sit there and not attempt to suffocate me," you tell him, shaking your head. you look away and go back to playing with the napkin you stole. "i promise it's possible."

"where's the fun in that?"

you sigh, and satoru leans his head on your shoulder. you don't even comment on the fact that he's even closer now, or that he smells like a gallon of sweat.

no, in all actuality, you don't really want him to move. you want him to stay right there and be your block from the world.

not that you'd ever admit that out loud.

"i really hate you," you tell him, quietly, once you've realized that you haven't said anything.

satoru smiles up at you, teeth peeking out from bright pink lips. then he groans theatrically. "you know i can't resist flattery, sweetheart."

you roll your eyes again. "how have you survived this long?" you wonder aloud. and then you pause. "no, wait. i already know."

"what?"

"special grade sorcerer," you whisper, in mock awe. you shiver when satoru runs a hand up your thigh, just to mess with you.

"i'll let you try to kill me next time we spar," he says, shaking his head at you. his hair is soft and ticklish against your neck.

you still don't move him.

"i refuse to spar with you."

he frowns. "you spar with suguru."

"'cause he doesn't cheat."

"i don't cheat."

"no cursed techniques during hand-to-hand combat," you recite.

he continues to pout, like the child he is. "how is that fair?"

you sigh at him, shaking your head. you don't have the energy to remind him of simple rules.

"c'mon," satoru says, leaning up and nudging you. "just once. it'll be fun."

he taps your nose with a finger.

you grab it. "we've sparred before, and we will not be doing it again."

satoru just smiles at you.

and the two of you sit there like that, staring at each other, your hand wrapped around satoru's stupid finger, waiting for the other to break.

his eyes are ridiculous, you think, for the hundredth time ever. the only real reason he's still alive is because of how pretty he is. if his bone structure was even slightly different, you think, he'd be dead.

satoru stares back, maybe thinking the same things you are.

but eventually, you're broken out of the daze.

"satoru," shoko says, again, and you both snap to look at her. she's got a brow raised. "did you hear anything i just said?"

you and satoru exchange a glance and ignore the looks of everyone else at the table. your body settles once again, no longer ignited solely by satoru's concentration you you.

finally, satoru moves away from you, leaning on his elbow to focus in on whatever conversation his friends are having.

you don't even realize that your hand is still wrapped around him, or when, eventually, satoru intertwines his fingers with yours.

you go back to eating your dinner, and you're very comfortable with the amount of space you have to yourself now.

really.

"hey," you say, pulling your jacket tighter around your body.

it's too cold to be outside, but it's too loud to be in bed. too quiet. "can't sleep?" you ask suguru.

you crept out of your room just ten minutes ago. you were only going to get something to drink--something to soothe your irritating heart--when you realized that it would never work.

so you ventured outside, instead, not really caring about rules or being caught.

and just when you were walking across the courtyard, you stumbled upon him (for a brief moment, you'd thought it was yaga, and almost ran back inside.)

but suguru just sitting there, on the steps, looking out into the forest like it'll come up with some answers for him. his hair is tied up, and he's got a better jacket on than you do.

you look at it a bit enviously.

suguru blows out a breath, the smell of cigarette smoke filling the air. you watch the puff as it disappears into the air. "no, you?"

"can i sit?" you ask, looking at the space beside him. suguru nods, watching as you sit down beside him, shivering. "nightmares," you tell him, answering the question.

he smiles at you, shaking his head ambiguously.

you gesture towards his hand. "i didn't know you smoked."

suguru almost laughs. "i don't, really. shoko's a bad influence."

he holds it towards you, but you shake your head.

"no, thanks. i've got enough bad habits to last a lifetime."

he laughs, stamping out the rest of the unsmoked bud on the ground.

you look towards the trees, almost expecting something to jump out from behind them--even though you know that no curse can touch you, or anyone here.

you don't get a lot of alone time with suguru. you're comfortable enough around him--and haibara sings enough praises for you to know what he's like. still, you're not sure what to say to him, or what he might know about you.

probably too much, you think.

eventually, you look back to suguru, smirking. "so, did you leave satoru sleeping by himself in your bed?"

"he snores," suguru answers, easily, and his shoulder brushes against yours.

you giggle, flexing your hands, trying to regain some feeling in your fingers.

a small part of you is glad that he's out here, right now. that there's someone else to be around, to remind you that it's all okay. and, if worst comes to worst, suguru is a lot stronger than you are.

you look up to the sky, tracing the remains of clouds with your eyes. there are no shapes to be made out--there never are, this late at night. and it's different here, at school.

at home, you can hear all of the bugs at night, and you can smell the breeze as it passes through. but here, it's almost irrationally silent. it doesn't smell like anything here. like cursed energy is strong enough to fade out the smell of the pine or the pollen.

you're silent, looking around.

"do you want my jacket?" suguru asks, suddenly, after you've shivered against him for the seventh time.

you look towards him, trying to ignore how cold you feel, and you sniff. "no, it's okay."

suguru's got a sly smile when he says, "probably shouldn't, anyway."

"what do you mean?"

he laughs to himself, then shakes his head.

you feel like you're missing something as you wait for him to answer. to clue you in on the joke.

"do you get them a lot?" he asks, instead of answering your confused glance. "nightmares?"

you swallow, nodding. "yeah. do you?"

"all the time."

"any advice? haibara says you've got overwhelming amounts of wisdom."

he snorts. "haibara..." he whispers, almost appreciatively.

you tilt your head at him, waiting.

"i'm only a year older, you know?"

you nod, consider it for a moment. then you think about satoru--inevitably--and what he said last time you mentioned the mere one year of age between the two of you. "well, a year is a long time for a sorcerer, isn't it?"

suguru makes a face. "i guess that's true."

you lean your chin on a palm, waving a hand. "so...?"

he grins at you. "finding someone to wake up next to helps," he says, only slightly teasing.

you understand what he's getting at, so you roll your eyes. "not all of us have a clingy best friend."

"satoru would cuddle with you if you asked."

"good thing i'm never asking."

"yeah, you shouldn't," suguru answers, feeling much older than he is, "he kicks."

"i bet."

suguru laughs again and clears his throat, looking around. you know there's nothing there, but you wait anyway. "i just try to remember that it's not real..." he says, eventually, "even if it seems like it."

you sigh, looking back to the forest separating your two worlds. "that's gonna be difficult, because i only dream about curses. and those are all real."

not to mention the other very real things you have nightmares about. the memories, the yelling, the quivering ideas that hide themselves in the corners of your head, begging to be let go, to be let out.

suguru must see this on your face; you're assuming it's fairly obvious.

he nudges you, but doesn't say anything for a moment, just looking back when you look at him. and then. "i have dreams about it, too."

you furrow your brows at him. "about what?"

"home. my parents."

you swallow, pausing. you blink rapidly, trying to regain your ground. "i don't..."

his face relaxes, at once. "satoru talks too much," he says, trying to joke. "especially about you."

you ignore that. "i don't--i barely think about my... parents. i'm too busy."

"i think your situation is probably worse than mine," suguru answers, obviously ignoring your lies. "my parents didn't tell me to leave. but... it was obvious that i couldn't stay."

it doesn't seem worth it to try and deny it, and if he's going to offer up information willingly, then who are you not to listen?

"how old were you?"

"eight," he says, easily. "you?"

"ten."

he nods, scratching at his neck. "i didn't tell anyone about it, for a long time. i thought... i knew that they wouldn't--"

"get it?"

"yeah."

you huff, relaxing at once. you slouch down, staring at the ground. suguru is wearing dirt-covered shoes, and you've got slippers on. "wish i'd thought of that. if i hadn't told anyone i'd probably still be there."

"you'd be hiding, though," suguru says, watching you, "trying to pretend like you fit in there, even if you didnt. couldn't."

"it would've been easier to pretend than having to live through it," you say, softly, absolutely sure about this. you've had a lot of time to think about it. then you smile, "i would've made a good human."

suguru laughs, tapping his foot against the ground. "what would you have done? if you weren't a sorcerer, i mean."

"uh..." you frown. you've never given the real world much thought--not beyond foolish dreams and stupid glances--"i think i'd be a taxi driver or something."

he snorts. "satoru says that you're a terrible driver."

"big talk from someone who can't drive," you say, scoffing. "and he was distracting me the entire time." you shake your head, annoyed at just the memory. "what would you be?"

he pauses. "...a teacher?"

"this is what haibara means by wisdom," you say, laughing. "maybe i wouldn't be a good human. i can't imagine doing anything else."

"maybe not."

you swallow. there are not very many stars in the sky, but you can still see all of the constellations and the stories written within the sky. part of you wonders if you'll be up there someday, another myth to speak about.

no, probably not. satoru will be written in history, and you'll still be here, always thrown out or forgotten

"do you think... do you think that my parents would be sorry? if they could talk to me now? if they saw what i can do?"

suguru hums, he doesn't even seem surprised by the question, to his credit. "i don't know... they--non-sorcerers--can't really understand, can they? they don't know that we exist solely to protect them, so they can't appreciate it. it makes it hard to be... angry, at them, doesn't it?"

you blow out a breath, looking away from the stars. "yeah."

"when yaga scouted me," suguru says, "my parents thought he was crazy. i understood what he said immediately, but they couldn't believe that anything like this could exist. and then, when i told them about the curses i was seeing, and absorbing..."

you look at him. his face is tense and easy, all at once. he doesn't mind telling you this, you realize. maybe haibara was right.

his eyes are contemplative as he looks around the courtyard, thinking about things you're sure you've thought about too.

"they thought i was crazy too, after that," he continues, finally. "my dad avoided me, and my mom never tried to argue with me about leaving. neither of them minded that i was going to this bizarre school and might not ever come home. even though they thought that yaga was a maniac."

you look at the ground, trying to push the memories out. you bite the inside of your cheek and wonder if there was ever a way to save that smaller version of yourself. if she'd grown up here, would she be the same?

"i think," suguru says, voice a bit harder, "that even if i was crazy, and all of the things i saw and experienced were fake, that if my parents truly cared about me, then they would've tried to help. they wouldn't have... ignored me, or treated me like i was the curse."

your neck snaps to him, and his eyes meet yours. suguru lets a thoughtful smile slip from his lips as he says, "it's not your fault that they didn't understand. that they couldn't. but it's their fault that they never tried to."

maybe it's because you haven't dared to speak with anyone about it--beyond snarky remarks to satoru when he says something ignorant--or maybe it's because suguru is the only person who gets it. who truly understands in a way that only children can.

or maybe it's just that you've been waiting for someone to say that to you since you were ten. since you were rejected solely for being yourself, being different.

six years of wondering if it was ever fair.

you swallow, nodding.

"sorry," he whispers after you're lost for words, struggling to put the pieces of you back. "but you can talk to me, if you want. i've been told i'm very wise."

you snort, shaking your head. he's like satoru in that way--shaking you out of whatever matters. "i really need to stop telling satoru things. he can't ever keep his mouth shut."

suguru laughs, looking at the sky. "no, don't."

"hmm?"

"don't stop telling him things. i'll have to hear all about it."

you laugh.

"'why would she be mad at me?'" suguru mocks, in a very good impression of satoru's honey-flow voice. "'i didn't even do anything.'"

"'i didn't know it was a secret,'" you say back, suddenly lighter.

suguru nudges you, hand wrapped around your forearm. just there. his fingertips are cold, but you don't mind.

"does satoru really tell you about the things we talk about?" you ask, after a while.

your entire body feels numb now, and you might freeze out here, but somehow it's worth it. just to not be alone for once.

suguru looks over at you, his brown eyes slight and knowing. "he doesn't need to," he says.

you have to look away, just so he doesn't catch that shock--the brief moment of recognition, pleasure--as it passes. but you smile in the dark eventually, letting it go unsaid.

and that's just how things are.

you spend your late nights chatting with suguru in the dark, both of you hopelessly lost and completely insane.

you let satoru irritate you whenever he wants, and sometimes you even bask in it. letting all of the horrors wash away with every quip that you send his way.

and you ignore that light--and heavy--feeling in your chest around him, pretending that it doesn't exist, or maybe it just doesn't matter.

you spend time with people who understand you, for once. you let the fear flow away in concerning thoughts and subconscious glances inward. you let the fears of attaching yourself to them fade away.

you know that any of you could be gone, could live with the regret of never living, at any moment, so you choose not to care about any of it. you go on missions and you act like your life is a feeble thing to play around with.

and it's honestly not all that bad.

until riko amanai, that is.

third year.

"suguru," your voice almost catches when he opens the door.

how many days has it been since you've seen him? how many weeks?

you've spent the last several weeks trying to let the two of them settle. into life, into existing, whatever.

you ask shoko how they're both doing--satoru and suguru--and she just shrugs.

"they don't like to talk about it," she tells you, and you try to just accept it. you try to let it go and worry about yourself, about your own messed up life.

but everything feels different.

satoru hasn't been answering your calls, which, okay, fine. you could deal with that. but he also hasn't been calling you, or showing up at your door just to talk, or stealing your breakfast, or clinging to you like he does.

he hasn't been doing any of it. and you could pretend you haven't noticed--that it doesn't matter to you if he cares or not. if he wants to be around you or not.

but it matters.

you decided to let him in at the beginning of the year, and you hadn't thought it was a mistake until now. until this exact moment, when you realized that you'd gotten too close to satoru. that you were friends, or...

you look at suguru now and you try not to gape.

his face is dreadfully grey, his eyes almost completely sunken in. he looks like an elderly man who hasn't slept in five years, just on the verge of death.

and you know from shoko that he's been gone a lot, like satoru, that he's been busy, but... still. this doesn't happen to overworked sorcerers. the recovery rate for all of you is extremely quick.

you really try not to gape. you try not to stare at him for too long, but you can't peel your eyes away.

"y/n," he whispers, no pleasantries needed. even his voice sounds rough. "is something wrong?"

you should probably be asking him that.

"no, i..." you stare for a moment, swallowing. maybe it's just his hair. you've never seen it down before, you realize, trying to refrain from taking a step back. still, there's that feeling in your chest--reminiscent of being a child, of dealing with satoru. you exhale. "are--are you sick?"

"what?"

"you look..."

suguru's eyes widen, and he nods, eventually, looking caught. "yeah, i guess i came down with something... i'm just..."

he looks behind him, and you get the sudden feeling that he doesn't want you there. doesn't want you to disturb whatever this is.

it makes you wonder if he and satoru have talked at all, since it happened almost a month ago. maybe two months.

you all know that sorcerers die all of the time. that people die just from living, curses or not.

so why is this death any different? why does this one matter? you want so desperately to ask.

"sorry, i can--i'll come back--" you say quickly, turning. then you turn around again, feeling guilty. "do you need anything? medicine? um... food?"

finally, a small smile makes its way to suguru's face. it's small, almost unnoticeable. but something inside you relaxes.

it shouldn't be this surprising that he even remembers how.

"did you need something?" he asks, softly, talking to you like he always does.

like you're sitting outside again, talking about life, ethics, being a sorcerer, and having a part of yourself hate it.

but this is so much different.

your stomach drops again. this is a ridiculous, stupid thing to even be asking. you shouldn't be here, worrying about this. you should be in your dorm, studying. you should be training with nanami, or trying to get haibara to come with you on a mission...

you shouldn't even be here.

you feel like a deer in headlights, caught in this the same way you caught suguru in whatever.

but he already knows, you rationalize. he already knows.

everyone knows, you think. everyone but you and satoru, according to shoko's comments.

so what do you care if suguru knows this?

"i, um, i just haven't..." you swallow, wanting to punch yourself in the face. are you really this pathetic? "have you seen satoru?" you ask, blurring the words together. "i know you've both been... busy, but i--i've been trying to get ahold of him, and shoko says that he won't answer her messages, and it's been a couple of weeks since i've seen him around school, so i just figured--" what? that suguru would have some brilliant answer for you? that he could reassure you that satoru wasn't trying to ignore you? "--that you might know where he is... or if he's okay? he's your best friend so--"

"i haven't seen him, either. we've been doing seperate missions," suguru says, interrupting whatever terrible thing you were about to say next, luckily. "he hasn't been answering your calls?"

your responding "no," sounds so small you want to bury yourself beneath the earth.

you really don't care about him, okay? you really don't.

you just want to be notified if he's dead or something. you just want to know if you did something to make him avoid you, or if he needs someone there, or if...

suguru frowns, contemplating something. "i think he's supposed to be home in a couple of days," he says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. it looks wet, and greasy, like he hasn't washed it in weeks. "but i'll text him."

"...you don't have to."

he smiles, knowingly. he gives you that same look that everyone does. that look that tells you that they know more about what's going on between you and satoru than you do. "it's no problem. you know how... spacey satoru can get."

"yeah. i know."

"you don't need to worry about him," suguru says, laughing a little bit. his eyes are so cold, bland.

"i know," you say, again, a bit more defensively. you take a step back. you're not sure why you expected suguru to have any answers for you.

(maybe it's because they're best friends and they're supposed to be there for each other. or maybe it's because they just went through the same terrible experience, and should probably depend on each other right now).

maybe he told him not to answer, you think, instantly. maybe suguru is working for him.

not that you care. if satoru doesn't want to talk to you--doesn't want suguru to talk to you--then you can't do anything about it.

you just have to live through this like you've lived through everything else.

he's just a classmate.

but the question slips through your lips, breaking down all denial. "is he... do you think he's okay?"

you want to clarify. you want to ask if they're both okay, if they've talked about any of it. if suguru needs you to get someone, like shoko, or if he wants to go sit on the steps and shout at the sky.

if he'll come with you to look for satoru because you're really worried about him.

if everything is okay.

but you know that suguru wouldn't answer that, especially not like this.

"are you okay, y/n?" suguru asks, and it's almost rhetorical. you can tell that he's trying to hit you where you're sore.

you feel frozen there for a moment, and then you turn away.

and that just about sums it up.

you're staring down at a white sheet, and all you can think is, this can't be happening.

not really, that is.

it's been a long time since you felt this deeply about anything. anger, sure. are you mad that your classmates are distancing themselves from you? are you mad that everyone seems to be advancing and you're stuck there, stagnant, while everyone else deals with everything?

of course.

but this...

you've had this nightmare a hundred times, but it's never gone like this. it's never been so untouchable, unforgettable, unbearable...

your entire body feels freezing; like you're the one who's dead.

have you already undergone rigor mortis? are you frozen there, muscles turned to stone?

this can't be happening, you think, again. so briefly it's not really a thought.

you're staring down at him. you're looking at him--at haibara--but this can't be how he really is, how he really was. haibara doesn't look like this, you think. you've never seen his hair this limp, never seen his face this pale. you've never seen him without a smile.

but nobody is smiling now.

you barely hear anything they're saying--the other people undergoing this, the other people who could probably tell you if this is real or not.

"...to exterminate a second-grade cursed spirit..." rings briefly out in your mind. you wonder if you imagined it.

your eyes glance down to the blood on the table. shouldn't shoko be here? shouldn't someone be doing something?

should you be doing something?

"nanami," someone says. "you should just rest for now." there's a hand on your shoulder, a whisper of another person in the room. "y/n, let's sit down."

are your legs shaking? is this a physical reaction to the news? you're always calm, always collected. the only person that--

"satoru has taken..." the same voice continues.

you pause, trying to listen, but their voices echo. if this were a dream, would you be able to listen? this is a dream, you think, just something to wake up from.

there's no one here to pull you out from this flood of emotions, of thoughts. satoru would usually, you think. he would be here and he would crack and joke and you wouldn't care about it anymore.

but satoru...

what should you do?

"can't we just let him handle everything alone at this point?" nanami asks, and you just hear it.

suguru ushers you over to the wall, where all of the stools are, one missing. he sits you down and you let him, because there's nothing else you can do.

your limbs are numb, and it's ridiculous to feel this way.

you barely even notice when you reach a hand out, grabbing nanami's, or when he grabs back, squeezing harder than you thought possible.

you should tell him that it hurts--that he's stronger than he looks--crack a joke or say something comforting, but you can't. you don't mind if he cracks all of the bones in your hand, as long as he stays right there.

"it's going to be okay," suguru says, maybe to you, maybe to nanami.

but he's lying. and you know it, even if you don't know anything else.

and when you try to knock on satoru's door later, feeling absolutely nothing, he doesn't answer.

not that you were expecting him to, anyway.

satoru doesn't think any of it is supposed to feel like this.

he's been hurt a hundred times. bruised when he let suguru get a hit in during practice, sliced up when he lets shoko try something on his body just to heal him right after, cut through the literal throat, and left to bleed out.

but it's never felt like this before.

he's ashamed, almost. lost.

what could he have done differently, he wonders? where did it all go wrong?

he thinks about amanai, thinks about suguru telling him not to be so arrogant, and then rejecting him just like that.

are you the strongest because you're satoru gojo? or are you satoru gojo because you're the strongest?

satoru almost wants to laugh.

well, he wants to say to suguru, how strong am i now? how strong am i like this?

but suguru isn't there. he's not coming back, satoru thinks, blandly, and his fists clench automatically. if anyone had asked him a week ago, he would've said that everything was fine.

everything was wrong, of course, but it was all fine.

shoko was staying at the school, helping with the damaged sorcerers, satoru was advancing more rapidly than he'd thought was possible, and suguru was...

what was he doing, again?

satoru blinks, and before he can answer that question for himself--answer any one of the goddamn questions floating around in his head--you're there.

you're there, and satoru suddenly can't remember the last time he saw you.

he certainly can't remember the last time he saw your eyes that sad, that wrong on the rest of your otherwise untouched face.

his defenses go down immediately, as they always do when you're around. it's probably a stupid decision, but satoru doesn't really care to rationalize it.

he's missed you, he thinks, suddenly. he's missed you more than he should.

you don't say anything when you sit down next to him, on the steps of the school, watching as his hands fall from their outstretched position.

"do you think that i'm strong?" satoru asks you, his voice rough, so tired.

and then he looks over to you and he watches as all of the thoughts pass on your face--the thoughts about suguru, knowing what he means, the worry and concern that he hasn't missed on your face since he first met you.

but you sigh, eventually, and you move a little bit closer to him.

"are you strong, satoru?"

he hasn't spoken to you in weeks, he remembers, suddenly. he doesn't even know why you're here now.

not when he's been avoiding you in favor of improving himself. not when he's been ignoring all of his responsibilities so he could try to get back to that place where there wasn't anything to care about.

"not strong enough," he answers, distantly. he's not even really sure if he means it.

your head falls to his shoulder in an instant, and you're there again.

satoru remembers every smile and every wince on your face. every time he made you laugh and then said something else just so he could try and do it again.

god, he's such a fool.

"that's okay," you whisper, eventually. "that's why you have me," you tell him.

"do i?" he wonders, aloud.

"hmm?"

"do i have you?"

you lift your head, and you're smiling, just a little. satoru can see the bitterness in your expression. he can tell that you're angry and that you're tired of it.

he can taste that hint of happiness that pours from you, that contradicting feeling of just being together again, even in a moment like this.

"of course," you say to him, softly. it's soft, unbelievable. "whenever you want."

satoru nods.

and you sit there with him for hours, and for once, you're the one pulling him out of everything.

just briefly satoru wonders what he would do if you left, too.

"what?" you repeat, watching nanami throw something into a suitcase.

you've been standing there for five minutes, processing this like you've processed everything recently.

meaning that you haven't. and that you're not going to as long as you'd like, thank you.

"what's the point of this?" kento answers, like you tried to tell him that there was a purpose to any of this. like you're just arguing.

but you can't be, because this isn't a discussion. you didn't happen upon his room and pick an argument with him.

you walked through the hall and you noticed the suitcase outside the door. the boxes he was stacking up to take somewhere else.

would he even have told you? would he have said anything if you hadn't stumbled upon it yourself?

"kento," you say, again, like a grounding tool. "i don't understand."

he sighs, folding a suit. "i'm not going to sit around and live this life. i don't care about jujutsu. i don't care about any of it."

"but, you..."

"there's no point, is there?" he asks, quietly, and he's not asking. "and even if there was, i don't care. i don't want to die doing this, y/n."

"you won't die," you answer, uselessly, trying to grab onto his arm, to get him to look at you. you want him to walk you through this, this thought process, the past three months here. "where are you going to go?"

"i don't know. i'll find an entry-level position somewhere."

"where are you going to live?"

"there's an available apartment in the city."

"but..."

"look," finally nanami turns around, meeting your eyes. he's never been emotional, but he looks even more stoic now. maybe he really doesn't care. "i don't want to be a sorcerer. i don't want to exterminate curses every day. i want to... live a normal life."

"what?" you repeat, feeling that terror rise in your chest.

so many people are leaving, you think. so many people are running away from this, and eventually, you're going to have to follow. or you'll rot here alone, hiding in the closet like you did as a kid.

"nanami, you can't just decide that you don't--"

"i already did."

"what about..." you swallow, and nanami shakes his head at you. his eyes are glazed over and you know he's not going to listen. you can feel it. "what about haibara?" you ask, finally, stepping over the boundaries you've laid down about him. "he wouldn't have wanted you to live some boring life in the city and run away from all of this--"

nanami's eyes are stern, his jaw clenches. "haibara died. isn't that proof enough that this doesn't matter?"

"it does matter," you say, even though you're not sure yourself. "it does."

"geto left, too. if the only two choices are staying and dying or leaving and living a boring life, then i choose the latter."

"suguru killed--" you pause, not wanting to talk about it out loud. you haven't seen satoru since the day you found out, and you don't want to risk having to think about him. "nanami, you're useful here. you're strong. you can do whatever--"

"gojo handles most of our cases now, anyway, doesn't he?"

you freeze, looking away. "well, he can't handle every curse, even if..."

"there's no point, y/n."

"what about--"

what about me?

he gives you one more look, another glance your way, another reminder that your only remaining classmate doesn't want to be that anymore. that there's nothing you can do to stop him from leaving.

it's your parents all over again.

are you the crazy one here? are you crazy for wanting to stay, even with all of the horror?

"i'm sorry," he says, after a moment, looking sincerely at you. but nanami has never been able to read your mind. he has never tried to spare your feelings--you thought you liked that about him. "we'll still talk. i'll call you."

"yeah, sure."

because you have to give up at some point. if nanami doesn't want to stay, you don't want to force him.

"this is what's best."

you nod blindly. and you wonder, for the first time since you got to jujutsu high, if you're strong enough for this.

year zero.

"this is basically every kid's dream," satoru says, rolling his eyes. megumi is the most difficult kid he's ever encountered, and he refuses to be pleased. "i got you candy and i'm letting you stay up late. why aren't you normal?"

megumi looks up at him, a vigorous hatred in his eyes. "why aren't you?" he repeats, attempting to kick at satoru's foot.

honestly, it's a little pathetic.

satoru tries not to snort, about to tell megumi about the millions of children lacking in candy at this current moment, or about how he's actively trying to find them a place to sleep even after megumi tried to punch him in the stomach earlier and--

he looks over to tsumiki, the little angel who is in no way biologically related to megumi, and watches as she waves.

his brows furrow, and then he looks up, away from the child attempting to murder him with his eyes, and he sees you.

you're standing there, a figure illuminated by the light in your entryway, a wary look on your face.

you're looking at both of the children, eyes flicking between the two of them, probably noticing how small they are, or how wet their clothes are from the rain.

not that satoru cares, actually.

as soon as satoru sees you--as soon as he can feel you again, the familiar curves and concaves of your cursed energy, of your entire being--his heart shifts, clicking back into place.

you look a bit upset, angry at his intrusion as you've always pretended to be.

he hasn't seen you in months, and it's suddenly very apparent. you look almost exactly the same. maybe you got your hair cut, or maybe you've just woken up, but satoru doesn't care.

he doesn't care about any of it.

his lips curve into an involuntary smile, and he wants to throw himself on top of you and tell you a million little things. he wants to whisper all of his secrets in your ear and hold you until you force him to let you go.

but you clear your throat, interrupting him before he can begin, and your eyes finally look towards him, both firey and excited.

his favorite.

"satoru," you say, the sound of his name in your mouth sending goosebumps up and down his skin. "where did you get these kids?"

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lundenloves · 1 year

Text

CHAOTIC RILEY HOUSEHOLD

{✧} dad!simon, everyone’s favourite dilf.

{✧} this is just a short thing of like a morning? (duh wtf) i mean if bro has three kids you already know he’s physically there but not mentally. and this was like? a depiction of that. it’s literally just one or two words on a screen. *trips on a curb after speed walking away*

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↳ no warnings | 1k | dad!simon

The chaos of the morning always felt extreme to Simon Riley. He had never imagined them to be so busy and full of life, full of emotion, loudness and laughs. Having a full house did that. Having three kids did that. And that was something he would’ve never imagined for himself, period.

Yet — here he was. Stood leant against the kitchen counter, piece of toast in his hand with a cup of earl grey on the counter behind him. His oldest argued with his middle, the last drop of orange juice teasingly drank down right in her face. The youngest cried loudly, protesting going to school by pushing her shirt over her head and screaming whenever anyone took a step near her. Plates were everywhere, half finished food was on said plates and you looked like a shepherd trying to herd her sheep.

Simon didn’t move from his position against the counter. It was like a vantage point, being above everyone in height, yet stood still and seemingly blending into the background of family mess.

That was until he was pulled from his peace, abruptly at that. “Dad, tell her.” The oldest had dropped her arms to her side in a teenage strop, gesturing to her sibling who scowled.

“Hmm?” He stared absently, blissfully unaware of the chaos before him. You squeezed past him, your hand on his bicep with the movement, the youngest clung to his leg and the middle began shouting about getting ‘dad involved.’

“She’s just drank all the orange juice, there was enough for two.” Simon shrugged, taking a bite from his toast and waving a hand of dismissal, as if her biggest problem of the morning wasn’t a flake valid. “Mum!” She tried instead.

“Simon, any day now?” You gestured toward his leg, silently telling him to deal with it. His eyes fell down to his youngest, still clung to his calf with force, half-dressed and crying. Loud. He rubbed at his temple, shoving the toast into his mouth and lifting his leg and her with it much to your fear.

“What’s wrong, eh?” She wiped her nose on her arm, looking up to her dad with wet eyes. “Kid.”

“School.” She mumbled, kicking away from him and attempting to run away before he had picked her up. She hit his chest, small hands trying to lift herself from his biceps. “Daddy. Stop.” Her demand only made Simon shrug.

“You’re going.” His hand pushed hair from her face.

“If she’s staying off, I'm staying off.” The middle chimed in, loosening her school tie and leaning back on her chair.

“No one is staying off.” He reprimanded, nodding toward the chair. “You’ll fall if you do that.” She shrugged and he manually pulled the chair back down, holding his palm on the back edge. “Go and get your bag.”

“What about her?”

“I’m about to sort her out,” His youngest landed a slap to his neck, trying to kick out of his grasp once more. “Just— do it. Thanks.” And there came a long groan that followed her up the stairs, the oldest reaching to finish her orange juice in the short absence. Simon sighed.

“I want everyone out in ten.” You shouted above the kitchen chaos, handing him small shoes that had been kicked off in a strop. He set her down on the table, holding her legs still to slide the shoes back on much to her physical protests.

“I don’t want to go.” She cried, crossing her little arms over her chest with a frown once he had fixed the shirt and jumper back on.

“No one wants to go.” The oldest chimed from the table, standing up and kicking her chair back in while absently scrolling on her phone. “I’m leaving.” She shouted to you, sending Simon a salute before walking backwards out the room and to the door with an accidental slam. “Sorry!”

The middle came humphing back downstairs and kicked her bag to the door, leant against the wall and glaring at her sister. You took your youngest from Simon, balancing her on your hip after pulling a jacket on. “I’ll see you when I get home, Si.” He nodded, mug of tea back in hand, brows frowning for a moment.

“Did you get her food?” His index and forefinger lacklusterly motioned to the counter, nodding his head upward in acknowledgement once you had shown him the lunchbox. “Did you get your food?”

“I’ll just buy—“

“Can we go.” Came an extended scoff from the hall.

“Buy something today.”

“You need money?” He cleared his throat, taking your brief kiss before setting back against the counter. His eyes landed on the toddler in your arms, stern gaze unchanged for her own glare sent his way.

“What five quid? No.” You rubbed his arm affectionately, taking the small raincoat for your daughter and pressing one last kiss to his cheek before walking down the hall. “Remember and sort out those shelves today. If you forget I'll be mighty impressed considering you’re doing fucking nothing.” You rambled while shoving your shoes on, letting your youngest daughter down and watching with a sigh as she sat on the floor.

Simon let out a string of “Mh-hm’s” for your list of requests, each one becoming less patient and edging a grin from you.

“Right.” You took your daughter's hand, picking her up from the floor. “The shelves, Simon.” A pointed finger of warning was sent his way and he merely nodded, seeing you out the door.

And once the house had finally fell to a stilling silence, he blew a raspberry to himself, hard knuckles rhythmically tapping on the kitchen counters. The mess a Monday morning created was something he could and would never get used to. But, it was home. Any drop of silence was his bread and butter, therefore the pin drop quietness pushed a groan of relief from him. Heel of his palms pushed into his eyes.

Home. Or something like that.

i’m still in my block this isn’t a redemption.

simon ‘ghost’ riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @misshoneypaper @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkjoequinn @gressseyy @fwibblefwobble @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox

as always, reblogs and comments are mighty appreciated! if no one pats me on the head every now and then i’ll sit in a hole.

↳ requests are open for dad!simon stuff although see the masterlist for more info.

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wttcsms · 9 months

Note

DRUNKEN CONFESSIONS WITH HIGURUMA PLEASE AND THANK YOU! (and maybe some nsfw if you're up to it?)

a rendering of regret, hiromi higuruma ;

pairing hiromi higuruma x f!reader word count 4.1k synopsis like everyone else who suffers from early onset midlife crisis syndrome, hiromi discovers two important things: he wishes he could fix things between you two and YOLO. like any other man with nothing to lose, he finds himself leaving the city and going back to his hometown, ready to be back in your good graces. content contains drinking, small town that sucks the life out of you but is home as the setting, being disappointed that growing up does not, in fact, solve all your problems, hiromi's mother is heavily implied to have committed su*cide, smut (riding hiromi, creampie, drunk sex)

Returning back to his hometown shouldn’t be as shameful of an ordeal as he makes it out to be, but the thing is, when you make a big show out of outgrowing small-town life, only to come back when it turns out the Real World sucks the soul out of you, it all becomes startlingly clear that you were never supposed to make it out in the first place. Becoming a hotshot attorney in Tokyo quickly disillusions any and all grandeur of being special and adulthood for Hiromi Higuruma, resident prodigy.

It turns out that city living is even worse than a quaint little town because, while there’s really nothing to do back home, there is entirely too much going on in Tokyo. The subway is always crowded and reeks of B.O., cheap perfume, overpowering cologne, and crushed dreams. There is never not a case that needs his immediate attention. With so many people existing all in the same place, at the same time, it somehow becomes increasingly harder to form real, human connections.

He knows that his mental break was long overdue, and honestly, he’s just shocked that his snapping hadn’t occurred sooner. Innocent people get tried for crimes on a daily basis; he knows this. He goes into this job knowing this, and witnesses it firsthand. It shouldn’t hit him so hard, but you told him, once upon a time, that at his core, he’s a good person. Hiromi Higuruma doesn’t think that a good person would punch both the prosecutor and the judge, but it certainly made him feel good.

The justice system is a sham, and growing up sucks. Hiromi thinks that for someone who popped out his mother’s womb a full-blown genius, he was a bit slow on the uptake when it came to realizing these two monumental truths. He decides not to waste any more time on trying to tackle the world’s problems on how he used to do, which is rationally and with a clear-head. Lately, Hiromi’s just been letting the intrusive thoughts win more often than not. He’s certainly not punching judges in the courtroom, but he tests out new experiences when he’s feeling particularly adventurous.

Adulthood is all about being able to take a bath in your suit and tie, and no one can give you shit about it besides yourself. There are absolutely no consequences to doing this, and Hiromi thinks people should advertise adulthood as getting to do batshit crazy things to yourself without fear of a scolding. That is much more realistic and sounds much more promising than bullshit like you’re going to change the world. The world sucks. Everybody sucks. Tokyo sucks. His hometown sucks. He sucks.

Perhaps the only good thing to come out of this life is you. You, Hiromi thinks, are the only person in the world who he can never look at differently.

Hiromi realizes too late that when you spend your whole life running from something, it eventually catches up to you, and it usually does whenever you’re out of breath and decidedly not prepared for life and past regrets to start pummeling you into the gravel. Hiromi has spent literal years avoiding any trace of you, and now he’s back home, probably worse off than he was when he originally decided to ditch this place, and his biggest past regret is standing in the staff lounge, making coffee from the communal coffee machine.

A shame, really. It’s almost embarrassing to be a grown man who gets literal heart eyes whenever he sees you. It’s doubly embarrassing whenever he realizes it’s been a decade since he’s last seen you, and that somehow, you still manage to make his heart get all hyperactive on him.

“Hi, stranger,” you say, pretending like the fucking ghost of Christmas Past isn’t standing in the staff lounge of the community college you work at.

“Hi,” he says, because for all his booksmarts, he can’t seem to come up with anything better. When he first skipped town, not even bothering to walk the stage for graduation, there had been a lot left unsaid between the two of you. Bringing up the past now, dredging up buried memories, seems like a bad idea.

“You must be the new law instructor.”

“Yes.” Apparently, as eloquent as he can be when it comes to defending his clients, he sure as shit is awful when it comes to saying the right thing to you. Then again, there are no instruction manuals to reference when it comes to facing your ex-girlfriend from high school who you never actually properly broken up with, just ghosted.

You stare at him, study him for just a second. Take in his tired appearance. The circles under his eyes. An apathetic expression you aren’t quite used to. Strands of hair still stick up a bit in the back of his head and a few more hang in his face — that, at least, is one thing that hasn’t changed.

“Good for you.” You tell him, and you leave it at that.

Hiromi Higuruma returning back to this shithole is certainly not on your bingo card on situations you thought would occur this year. Growing up, you were convinced more than anybody that Hiromi didn’t belong here. Not because of his appearance or the fact that his household was infamous for being a loveless, lifeless shell of a home and family, but because if anybody was destined for bigger and better things in life, it certainly would be Hiromi.

He’s always been smart, to the point where the teachers would practically give him free rein to do whatever he wanted to during class because he already studied the material beforehand. Usually, he just spent this time helping you with your assignments. You remember making a comment to him in high school one time.

“I’m holding you back, aren’t I?” You poke the book he’s ignoring in favor of helping you edit your essay for English Lit.

“No,” he says, eyes glued to your paper. He’s erasing something.

“Sure I am. You could be doing anything else besides editing my paper.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do.”

“You shouldn’t.” He’s rewriting a sentence for you. “There’s nothing I’d rather be doing.”

“You should stop helping me, Higuruma.”

He finally looks up from the paper. “What?”

“You should stop helping me.” You yank back your essay, unceremoniously shoving it into your bookbag. “It’s bad for me in the long run.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll just keep on depending on you, and then what am I gonna do when you leave?”

You mention this hypothetical as if it’s a fact. As if he is one hundred percent going to ditch this town and everybody in it. At the time you’re saying this, he doesn’t even know he’s going to leave yet.

“What makes you think I’m leaving?”

“You’ll die if you stay here.” Looking back, it’s comical how teenagers have a bad habit of voicing assumptions and then presenting them as fact. Hiromi Higuruma is the type of guy who cares so damn much about people and the state of the world, no matter where he goes, death’s going to follow. Caring is killer.

“Even if I do leave, I’d want you to come with me.” He doesn’t know why he says this, but he knows that it’s the truth. If you want to stay here, that’s the only reason he needs to stay. If you want to go, he’ll have his bags packed.

You search his eyes, looking for a possibility that he’s just saying stuff to appease you. Apparently, you find the sincerity you’re looking for because you give him a bright smile, hands already digging in your bookbag in search of your now-crumbled up essay.

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

He seals the deal by interlocking his pinky with yours. This is a sacred act. You made it a strict rule in your friendship, and Hiromi is a stickler for rules. You can’t break a pinky promise; it’s the type of vow that transcends legality. To break a pinky promise would be to break off your friendship, make it null and void. So, when the time to walk the stage and receive your diploma in front of the town comes, you’re confused as to why Hiromi isn’t there. He’s not home, either.

Hiromi left, his dad tells you. He looks like Hiromi, but since that’s his father, it’s the other way around. The only difference, besides the fact that he is a grown-up, is that Mr. Higuruma has what you call dead eyes. Lifeless. Like, he’s looking, but he’s not really seeing what’s there. He talks funny, too. All flat and emotionless, like he’s perpetually unbothered. You can’t even tell how he feels about his son’s departure, or the fact that there’s a teenage girl on his doorstep at seven in the evening, still wearing your cap and gown.

“Do you know where to?” You ask Mr. Higuruma, still hopeful, still feeling the ghost of his pinky twisted around yours.

“Tokyo.”

That checks out. You always knew Hiromi was meant for something more.

“I’m shocked he’s not put behind bars,” Yuki tells you, wiping down the bar counter. “Didn’t you hear what went down in the courtroom with him and that judge?”

It had made the news. You normally don’t care to tune in, but it was something that concerned Hiromi. Of course you heard all about it.

“I just don’t know what he’s doing back here.”

“This place is a dump. ‘Course someone down on their luck is gonna come slinking back in here.”

“Yuki…” You look at your best friend. “Didn’t you technically come back, too?”

“Well I never said I wasn’t down on my luck, now did I?” You can’t imagine someone like Yuki having to come back home with her tail tucked in between her legs. Yuki is the opposite of a loser; while the world beats people to a pulp, Yuki curbstomps the world. If Tokyo managed to send Yuki and Hiromi packing their bags, you don’t want to leave your hometown. Ever.

You meet Hiromi in grade school. Your town is too small to actually have its own public school, and so all the kids from home walk the two miles to the designated bus stop where this ugly, wretched faded yellow deathtrap on wheels comes squeaking and squealing to pick you up and take you all to the nearest city’s school.

Everyone knows that you all are the students from the rinky-dink town that’s such a shithole that it can’t even produce its own school. Finding work in that town is hard enough as it is, but you grow up used to being surrounded by your other financial equals. It’s hard to find your footing amongst a crowd of kids who get new shoes every school year and can afford the fancy crayons. You know, the ones that aren’t just glorified lumps of colored wax that would probably work better as candles instead of cheap art supplies.

Hiromi gets most of the city students’ attention, though. It’s not as if it’s a surprise to you that they like to pick on him for his nose — it’s like the joke’s practically staring them right in the face.

You are surprised, though, that he takes it so hard. He’s sitting alone at the front of the bus, staring out the window, and you think you catch a tear running down his cheek.

You know that Hiromi is always early to a fault; he waits outside for the bus a good thirty minutes before it’s even scheduled to show up, just to ensure that he won’t miss it. You have to get up extra early as a result because you think it would be better to try to make friends with Hiromi without an audience.

Before you can lose all confidence in yourself, you go for it. You take one grubby little hand of yours and swipe awfully close to his face, nearly hitting his nose in the process.

“Got your nose!” You wave your hand in the air, smile slowly falling when you realize that he doesn’t look amused. “Sorry. I was trying to help.”

“How was that supposed to help?” He doesn’t sound mean when he says it. He sounds curious, like he’s genuinely trying to hear you out. You will soon learn that that is the type of person Hiromi is. He might be the only person in the world who doesn’t judge someone within the first five seconds of meeting them.

“Y’know, so when the other kids in school make fun of your nose, you know they’re lying.”

“How would they be lying?”

“‘Cause I got your nose. How are they making fun of something they can’t see?”

Logically, young Hiromi knows that this is not the case. His big, fat nose is still smack dab in the center of his face, and the “nose” you captured is just your tiny thumb tucked under your fingers. Logical thinking is no fun, though, so Hiromi goes with it, and the two of you have been inseparable ever since.

Hiromi Higuruma has a lot of regrets, actually. In his mental tier list, the bottom of the barrel shit is made up of petty things, like not punching his grade school bullies in the face for being little assholes, or not trying Kitakata ramen when he had the chance. Then, there’s the stuff just a level above, which is less-silly things, like how he regrets the way he handled certain cases and the fact that in his haste to return home, he didn’t pack a pair of comfortable house slippers, and the ones he bought at the only convenience store in town feel too stiff.

At the very top, his biggest regrets are all centered around you. This isn’t to say that he regrets you, but he does know that his treatment of you haunts him during the nights he lies awake in bed and wonders why the fuck life sucks so hard. He hates that he didn’t admit to you that he liked you sooner, that he wasted so many of his high school days awkwardly trying to hide the fact that he’s hopelessly devoted to you. He hates that he didn’t get a chance to take you to prom. He hates that he didn’t tell you that he was leaving, that he didn’t think to bring you with him, that he never called or texted after he left because he was too embarrassed and scared at the prospect of you not wanting to hear from him after how he left without a trace. He regrets not telling you why he left, that he caught his father and his mistress together, and how disgusted he felt at seeing such a sight. That the next day, he vowed to tell his mother, only to knock on her bedroom door (it’s no surprise that his parents never shared the same bed for as long as Hiromi could remember), and when she didn’t answer, he opened the door, only to be greeted by her still body in bed, three empty orange pill bottles on the nightstand.

He couldn’t have stayed, and he was rendered speechless. Final transcripts had already been released, and walking for graduation was optional. Hiromi took whatever meager savings he had, clicked “accept” for his college admission to Tokyo U (full-ride, because if anyone was going to get a scholarship based on academic merit, it would be Hiromi), and skipped town. Everything in the world to him appeared to be in shades of black and white, the occasional bright orange catching his eye, haunting him, taunting him.

Life is too short, though. Too short to waste time in bed, in an apartment he hates located in a city he despises, to look back at all his shortcomings. If he could go back in time and do things differently, he would. He wouldn’t have punched that judge or the prosecutor (even if they totally did deserve it), and he wouldn’t have kept his acceptance into Tokyo U a secret from you. He would have taken you to prom, and he would’ve asked you to come with him to Tokyo, escape this dump of a town and take on the big city together. He thinks he probably would have hated Tokyo less if you were with him, you and your nonsensical logic that makes the worst things to ever happen to him suddenly seem bearable.

He should tell you all of this, but he’s drunk because Yuki is manning the bar, and she pours with a heavy hand. He never really spoke to the blonde despite the fact that they grew up down the street from each other, attended school at the exact same time, same grade, same everything. The downside of living here, it seems, is that everyone you’ve ever known is entirely unavoidable. You run into them everywhere. You want to drown your sorrows in amber liquid served in questionable, grimy glassware, and the person aiding in your slow death is the very girl who used to wake you up in the middle of the night due to the sound of her revving up her obnoxiously loud and ancient (she claims vintage) motorcycle that she bought for cheap at a junkyard.

The upside of living here, it seems, is that since everyone is unavoidable, you are running into him here.

You take a seat to his left, conveniently leaving one barstool between the two of you. Yuki is joking around with you, saying something that makes you laugh, and the urge to do something very stupid builds up in Hiromi. He’s been totally chill with the whole “letting the intrusive thoughts win” routine, but he wants to handle his relationship with you with a delicate hand.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks you, hoping that his words don’t come out slurred.

“I’d normally say yes, but Yuki gives me my drinks on the house.”

Yuki yanks back the drink she made you. “If Ace Attorney over here wants to pay for your drink, you’re getting charged, hon. Sorry. Girl’s gotta make a living.”

Conversation with Hiromi comes naturally to you. Everything you do with Hiromi comes naturally. The alcohol helps warm you right back up to him, dormant feelings now coming back to life. You think you’re too old to have butterflies in your tummy when you make tequila-induced attempts at flirting with him (at least, you think you’re flirting; it’s been a while since you actually tried). You think that you definitely don’t give a shit whenever he plays along, because that’s just what he does, what he always has been doing.

When he left, everyone in town was under the impression that Hiromi had been stringing you along. The fact of the matter is, you have Hiromi wrapped around your finger to the point where he doesn’t think he could ever get unstuck.

Everything you do with Hiromi comes naturally, and it’s only natural to have him walk you back to your apartment. It’s only natural that you invite him inside to “catch up” some more, and it’s only natural that “catching up” involves you grinding on his lap, sinking his body deeper into the pink loveseat in your living room.

Your dress is tugged up to your waist because easy access means you don’t have to get naked to get dicked down. Hiromi’s suit pants are admittedly not made for quick fucks, but if there’s a will, there’s a way. His pants are unzipped, briefs adjusted enough so that his dick can unceremoniously be freed from its confines and make its way to where it truly belongs, which is buried deep inside the warmth of your cunt.

Hiromi finds pleasure in the discomfort of it all. If he was doing this with anyone else, he’d be hyper aware of the stiffness of his dry cleaned suit, and how the loveseat seems to protest with the combined weight of you two rocking back and forth on top of it. He’d be too irritated with the way sex would wrinkle his clothes, and he probably wouldn’t even be this hard because he drinks so he has a valid excuse for never taking a woman home with him.

Because it’s you, everything is felt to the extreme, but you have this way, this charm, this spell, that makes everything that happens to Hiromi better. The best. You are the best he’s ever had, and he thinks he grunts this into your ear as you rest your body against his, upper body limp and boneless, your lower half moving up and down, trying to get a good angle so his cock can hit right there.

He kisses your shoulder, and he experimentally thrusts up, and you let out a string of moans that are interspersed with little breathy fuck’s, and he thinks this might be one of his most favorite sounds in the whole entire world. So he keeps thrusting, keeps relishing in the way your walls seem to clamp down on him, keeps enjoying the way you hang onto him and whimper out his name.

He is drunk, and he is in love, and he knows that he didn’t come here with the intention of fucking you boneless, but you don’t seem to mind, didn’t seem to mind when you kissed him first and started grinding on him, the catalyst to the situation he’s in now.

He planned on telling you the truth, the story about why he left, about how he feels stupid on how he handled the whole situation. The bourbon he downed earlier this night seems to be affecting his brain, though, because all he knows is that there is only one confession he is capable of giving to you right now.

“I love you.” He groans, his hands finding your waist, gripping hard. “Fuck, I love you. Never stopped.”

His cock feels too good when it's buried deep inside of you. You know it’s silly and stupid, but you want to tell Hiromi that you want him to fuck himself so deep that he can touch your heart with his dick. No other man would want to hear some creep shit like that, but Hiromi is Hiromi. He would get it. You drunkenly tell him your wish, and he lets out a little breathy laugh, rolls his hips, and rocks your world.

“I’ll give it my best shot.” He says, and because the alcohol tells him that his sobriety makes him a bitch, he reminds you once more. “I love you.”

You cum. The sex is drunken and messy, and while drunk sex usually happens in a blurry haze for you, you are seeing everything clearly. You can see the crease in between his brows as he concentrates on maintaining the perfect balance between relishing in your wetness and not overstimulating you. You can see the way his eyes greedily, lovingly, admire the messy sight of your joined bodies. You can see his nose, tall and as noticeable as ever, and so Hiromi.

You want to tell him that you love his nose, but speaking is hard when he dicks you down like this. All you can do is press a kiss to the tip of it. This only makes him tighten his grip on your waist, his thrusts getting more erratic, and then you feel a nice warmth flooding inside of you. The two of you are rational adults, and rational adults know that cumming inside should be a no-no between two people who have yet to establish what the fuck you are to each other.

“I love your nose.” You tell him, when you finally manage to catch your breath. He’s still buried inside of you, and you’re afraid that when he does eventually have to pull you off of him, everything’s going to come spilling out of you. The thought of separating from Hiromi makes you frown. You just got him back.

“I love you.” He says back, for the nth time this night. Maybe he’s making up for lost time. Maybe he’s just drunk. You don’t care. Hiromi is back, and even if he leaves again, you’re happy that he’s at least here with you right now.

“You’re drunk.”

“If I tell you when I’m sober, will you believe me?”

He’ll sober up tomorrow. If he tells you when he’s sober, that means he’ll have to stay. He won’t go.

“Yes.” You say, trying not to reveal the fact that you already believe him. Hiromi is not as impassive as he thinks he is. “Pinky promise.”

You feel the familiar warmth of his finger twisting ‘round yours.

“Pinky promise.”

#hiromi higuruma x reader #higuruma x reader #jjk x reader #smut #one shot #drabble #jjk fanfiction #jjk smut #hiromi higuruma smut

658 notes · View notes

nyashykyunnie · 1 month

Text

˗ˏˋ Jinwoo x Fem! Reader: Soulmate! Au ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 043 ✦ ┆・

╰┈➤ ❝ [ I'm willing to bind myself to you] ¡! ❞

Jinwoo had always been curious about the little red string attached to his finger. He had this way before his regression. His mother always told him that he is lucky that he can see his red string, it meant that he would find his lover faster than anybody else would.

Does he, a man who really could care less about fantasy romance— Find this whole thing cheesy? Definitely.

While others would certainly start flipping rocks just to find their 'one true love'; Jinwoo did none of that.

He had priorities to deal with.

Such as suddenly becoming the patriarch of the family due to his father going missing, trying to provide care to his mother who has come down into a coma, and taking care of his dear baby sister on top of that.

Jinwoo probably got into debt in the process of trying to shoulder all the financial problems.

Would you really think he had some time for romantic relationships and much less go hunting for a needle in a haystack?

However... He did have some small chemistry with Hae-in, though, it felt more shallow than anything. After all, they only met a few times and decided to roll with it just because.

It felt... Empty so to speak.

They say that romance feels like a tidal wave, once it comes— It overwhelms you with such force you'd have nothing more choice than to kneel before it and surrender yourself to it's mercy.

But Jinwoo couldn't feel any of that with Hae-in.

Don't get him wrong, she is a wonderful person. Kind, pretty, all that and whatnot.

But what can he do if a heart does not want what it wants?

His red string wouldn't be reacting neither. Not a glow, not a tug, no nothing.

Jinwoo would eventually find himself just ignoring the little red string until the time he regresses.

Heck, he even forgot about it even if it's literally tied to his very own finger.

And as he traversed the long hallways of his school, hands shoved in his pockets while listening to his friends banter around him— He felt a soft tug on his finger.

"H-hey! Knock it off, I wanna pull for Aventurine myself!" A voice would erupt his bewilderment as a sharp tug at his finger pulls again. "Iseol!"

He looks back to see your figure running after your friend who had taken your phone.

"Huh..." Jinwoo hums, shaking his head and turning away.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Jinwoo felt entirely restless after that little meeting. It's not like he caught a proper glimpse at you, your back was turned the entire time.

And yet he finds himself completely fidgety. His sister even rants that he had been pacing for hours if she wouldn't snap him out of his little trance.

Has he lost his mind over a girl he hasn't properly seen? Definitely.

Is it the effects of the red string? Not impossible.

"Goddamnit!" Jinwoo sighs, ruffling his head and flopping onto the bed.

"My liege..." Beru's small voice calls out. "My lord, you are... Anxious."

"Tell me about it" Jinwoo scoffs, groaning through his pillow.

"...My liege, I have her scent, do you wish to track he—"

"You do?!" Jinwoo perks up, staring intensely at his soldier before mentally slapping himself. "Ack... No, don't make me a creep"

He felt frustrated, why would he do that? Why should he? He might as well spend his time in jail for even trying to entertain the idea of stalking you.

Jinwoo's gaze would then absentmindedly drift towards the red string on his ring fingerz nothing how much vibrant it's color is now compared to before.

Was it your doing? Maybe.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

He told himself not to be a creep and yet found himself somewhat lingering around you. All the little things about you, he started taking note of.

From memorizing the frequent pastries you buy from the cafeteria, to the drinks you often buy from the vending machine, and even trying to overhear the games you play on your phone.

It was really just curiousity.

After all, he can't help but find it cute on the way your eyes would perk up as you ramble on to your friends about some lore or complaining about some game mechanics because of how hard it was.

Jinwoo was just about to leave you to your own devices until your voice ripped through the air—

"AVENTURINE!!!!" You cheer, standing up immediately and pacing back and forth. "HE'S HOME, AFTER SACRIFICING 30 DOLLARS FOR THIS DAMN BASTARD HE'S HOM—!!!!"

Your heart dropped immediately as your shoe got caught over on a crack— And for sure you were going to land but instead a hand would reach out to hold your shoulder and keep you steady.

"Easy there," Jinwoo says, helping you stand straight.

"!!!!" You panic, pulling away with your face entirely flushed. "I-I'm sorry! I-I didn't mean to!..."

"Wait, calm down—...." Jinwoo wasn't even given a second any longer to speak as you dashed away in a frenzy.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Your heart is beating out of your chest, your lungs are barely catching any breath as you coughed, the noises you made akin to whistles while trying to gasp out for air.

It's tight.

Painful.

Your hands are sweating, trembling as if it's suffering from frostbite.

Is it fear?

No.

It's just how you react after being way too dangerously close to the person you adored so much.

His eyes.

God those grey eyes.

Long lashes, a high nose bridge, thin peach lips, and that agonizingly relaxing scent on him— Gods.

Not to mention his height, he was like a tower. And those broad shoulders underneath his baggy clothing that hid the muscular form underneath—

Sung JInwoo will be the death of you.

You had been avoiding him ever since coming here.

How long has it been?... Ah... It's been 3 years since you arrived in this world.

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It was supposed to be your doctor's appointment. Since you have arrived an hour earlier from your check-up, you decided to stroll around the mall first.

Okay, you weren't really taking a stroll.

Your strides are purposeful and hurried, the goal is clear:

Get to the bookstore.

As you recalled, it should be at the other end of the mall.

It didn't matter how long you're going to walk, you needed to see if it's there. Nothing is more important than that.

Taking the elevator down and nearly having a heart attack from the sound of it creaking as it took you to the lower level; you stepped out and dashed immediately to the entrance.

Glancing around like a madman, you scoured the large and intimidating place before deciding to enter completely and attempt to look for the section you needed to be in.

Passing by interesting books wasn't the goal, and after almost 3 minutes of going in circles you finally saw the section you needed to be in.

As soon as your eyes landed on the cover of the book you have been searching for— You had to swallow your squeals.

Your hands however? They were shaking so bad.

You paced back and forth for a bit before finally deciding to reach out on the book and take it out of it's shelf cautiously.

Taking a deep breath, you gently pry open the thing and feel your heart flutter.

"Jinwoo-ah...." You mumble, giggling quietly as your eyes dilate into heart shapes at the sight of the precious man you cannot stop obsessing over.

Carding your digits carefully on the fine paper, your stroke Jinwoo's face on the page delicately like you were handling the most fragile little thing ever.

You can't help but admire him all the more as you silently freak out like a madman in the aisle.

He was so handsome.

And now that you can physically run your fingers across the pages while crushing on him felt a whole lot different.

You had about a decent amount of money on you, it should be fine. As you reach for your little bag, you hear some crackling above your head.

The next thing you knew? You were suddenly shrouded in darkness.

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You assume you must have died that day while shopping for your first ever solo leveling purchase. After all, you suddenly woke up in an unfamiliar apartment.

It tooka while to get used to it, but apparently you're in seoul living alone in a decent apartment with a black card containing a lot of money.

Complaints? Nowhere.

— Except that Solo Leveling doesn't exist in this world.

Did you have a literal mental breakdown over it? He yeah.

Big tears, pathetic sniffles and nasty snot. All that.

You cried like a toddler just because you cant do your monthly ritual of rereading solo leveling and admiration of Jinwoo anymore.

So with salty tears you grab a pencil and paper to start sketching him down. If you can't read, mind as well draw the image of him when it's still fresh.

It took 3 weeks to recover, and in ur room, your desk is full of Jinwoo's sketches. It isn't the same as the manhwa but it's the best you could do.

It took another 2 to finally come to terms with your new reality.

You're rich, mind as well live life, right?

You even enrolled to a highschool. After all, k-dramas are always centered around that part of life. Why not experience it yourself?

After successfully buying all of your school materials, you glance down at your ring finger and notice a delicately tied red string.

Huh...

That wasn't there yesterday.

Picking at it and attempting to take it off didn't work. So after an hour of struggling, you gave in and let it be.

Maybe the string was proof that you had died.

And maybe it was a sign that this is your purgatory. Or not, everything is way too normal except for no Jinwoo.

So heh....

But ah, it wasn't part of your plans to see a figure... Way too familiar.

Tall, dark, and handsome.

Three words and you associate it with only one person.

Amidst the crowd of students lined up on the grounds your eyes zeroed in instantly on a single boy who stood out amongst everyone.

No way... Right?

That piercing gaze, the fluffy hoodie, and a glove on his left hand.

That was Jinwoo's appearance when he regressed in time and went into highschool.

Shit.

Isn't your uniform similar to Jinah's?

You should've realized in the first place.

Wait no, you're not really mad it's just!... Jinwoo... Seeing him on the crowd, the probability of meeting him in the hallways isn't zero.

How are you going to survive? Is this why there isn't solo leveling in this world?

Because this world is where the protagonist lives?

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And that is the story of how you arrived here in this world. During the 2 months of being in school, you occasionally passed by Jinwoo, and in each fleeting moment you had to hide in the washroom to try and calm yourself from your panic. Your heart would beat as if it's going to explode, your breathing would be erratic each time that you cant really take a breath.

You always knew that meeting him will quite take a toll on you because you loved him so much, but you didn't think it would be this bad that you look like you're having a panic attack.

Stay Calm.

You need to stay calm. If you pass out from fangirling over your precious idol it'll be embarassing as hell.

Calm down.

You need to calm down.

It's not like he actually saw you, it'll be fine.

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No, it wasn't fine.

Somehow, crossing paths with Jinwoo became more uncharacteristically frequent. It's to the point that you needed to actively avoid his usual walking routes.

Is it stupid to hide from someone who has the ability to locate anyone at any given moment? Yes.

Will you still keep doing it? Yes.

You don't hate Jinwoo, you just cant handle being around him knowing how much adoration you hold inside your heart and knowing that he will never be yours.

It should be around this season when Jinwoo asks Chae Hae-in out and kisses her under the falling snow.

It isn't december 24th yet but... Does it matter?

She's so lucky, having someone like him to admire her.

The only thing you have with you is a lonely life with money.

As well as this stupid red string wrapped around your finger.

What is it meant to represent anyway? A lover?

Surely not.

Who would love you?

The sad, pathetic, lonely, and broken you who doesn't belong in this world.

Just like your previous life and this one, you feel an awful sense of alienation that is unpleasant. The kind of loneliness that eats at your heart every single day.

"Ah, you're here?" A voice from behind you makes you jump and instantly whip your head around.

"A-ah..." You panic, recognizing the familiar grey eyes.

"Now, don't even run away." Jinwoo simply says, smiling.

It made you gulp honestly, something about that grin made you feel like he's willing to pull you into the land of eternal rest if you do.

"U-uhm..." You sputter, fidgeting.

"Not even wearing gloves in this weather?" He inquires, pulling the gloves off of his hands and gently taking yours.

"..."

The red string on your finger tingled, glowing softly as the broken ends binded itself to the strings on Jinwoo's finger.

"How cute" Jinwoo interrupts the silence. "Even if you run away now, these strings will keep us binded."

"W-wait!" You panic, utterly confused as you look up at him.

"I won't force myself on you," He says, his gaze moving from the strings to your eyes. "But I do want to court you properly,... If you'll let me."

"....."

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"That's the story of how me and your daddy got together," You hum softly, caressing your fingers softly against your stomach that is now holding a four month old growing baby.

"What a cute bedtime story," Jinwoo chuckles, approaching from the door and pecking your forehead. "Now, shouldn't you be asleep, hm? My pretty wife needs a lot of rest since you're carrying our little ball of sunshine"

"I just couldn't help it..." You pout at him, and he only pinches your cheek before leaning down to kiss your stomach.

"Mhm, I can tell" He shakes his head while gently pulling the blanket over you. "Go to sleep, jagiya. I still need to shower after a long day at the office"

"Please hurry..." You ask softly, tugging at his sleeve.

"I will" Jinwoo promises, leaning in to kiss your forehead again. "So go to sleep."

꒰ 🪼 A/N: Sorry for the inactiveness ahhh... I'm quite burnt out as of late and I've been doing some commissions as well as running errands www. I'll postpone the cai requests for a bit longer ahhh... I have to make assassin au too ejshrgshs. Oh well, here's to praying I figure out wth I want to do with assassin au ꒱